Murphy's Law
by SciFiNutTX
Summary: A nonamnesia sequel to Lil' Sammy. The guys really need a break, so a few days off at Bobby's seems in order. When odd things start happening the brothers discover that there may be more at Bobby's place than just junked cars. Complete
1. Chapter 1

This fic is a non-amnesia sequel to **Lil' Sammy**. **Murphy's Law** takes place just after Playthings in Season 2. You can thank (or blame) my partner in crime _**hotshow**_ for this one. It was her idea! She is also the intrepid editor on this fic.

**Murphy's Law**

Dean strolled through the graveyard, using his flashlight to help him find the gravesite he and Sam located this afternoon. Sam mumbled behind him, carrying most of their digging equipment. Dean grinned into the darkness.

"Sam? Problem?" He squinted at the next headstone. Nope, not it either. He could have sworn it was right around here. Dean stopped to rub his eyes. It was getting harder to read the damn names. God, he hoped he didn't need glasses.

"I thought it was closer than this, Dean," Sam whined. His brother had been doing a lot of that lately. Whining. The music was too loud or too soft. The food was unhealthy or cooked wrong. The motel room was not clean enough or too bizarre. Dean had to admit their current motel was one of his all-time favorites. It actually had a Chevy theme. The Chevy bowtie was etched into the bathroom mirror and framed prints and photos of classic cars decorated the walls. The wall paper looked like stamped steel and the bedspreads were rejects from a kids' decorating department, covered with racing cars and bright red flames. Sam squirmed each time he had to pull back the bedspread.

"Gotta be right around here, Sammy." Dean squinted into the shadows. About time, there it was. He dropped down to check it closer, make sure they had the right grave. "This is it."

"About time," Sam grumbled as the bag with the shovels and weapons hit the dirt.

Dean held out a hand and waited. He heard another huff before Sam slammed a shovel into his hand. He used the shovel to push himself back into a standing position. The shovel bit into the rich graveyard soil with ease as Dean thanked his rare good luck. At this rate, they could be out of here and in bed in less than two hours. He said nothing as he dug, wondering when his brother would feel he had worked enough to pay off Sam carrying the supplies. After a good twenty minutes, Sam joined him. They dug in silence. When they hit the hard, hollow sound of a coffin beneath their feet, Dean waved Sam out of the hole.

As Dean lifted his shovel to break through the coffin, he felt a tightness through his chest. He could not catch his breath. He froze, eyes rotating to look at Sam. Sam was pulling the salt and lighter fluid out of the bag, not paying any attention to him. Dean opened his mouth to say something, but the tightening sensation squeezed so hard he felt like his chest was in a vice. Was that the sound of his ribs cracking?

Eyes riveted to Sam, silently pleading for his brother to look up, Dean struggled to simply take in air. It was like being underwater, in a vice. He suddenly had great sympathy for everyone organized crime had thrown into a river with cement overshoes. Finally he discovered the one thing he could still do. He dropped the shovel.

The shovel clattered against the top of the coffin. Sam looked up. "What? You want me to do that, too?"

_Come on, Sam, figure it out_, he pleaded silently.

"Dean? You messing with me?" Sam stared at him. Dean watched as understanding dawned on his brother's face. "Shit!" His brother lunged forward, grabbing him around the chest and hauling him out of the grave.

The results were instant. Dean could breathe again and his chest was no longer being crushed. "About time," he breathed weakly.

Sam stood, glaring down into the grave. Dean scrambled to his feet, pulling his brother back from the edge. No sense in both of them experiencing that.

"What do we do now?" Sam demanded, shaking off Dean's restraining hand.

"Give me your shovel," Dean replied, forcing air into his bruised chest.

"Why?" Sam asked, spinning around. "You're going to do something stupid, aren't you?"

"Thanks, Sam," Dean said with a scowl. "But I don't see a whole lot of options here."

"Funny, I don't really see any, except to get the fire hot enough to burn through the coffin," Sam replied hotly, digging through the duffel again for more lighter fluid.

"No guarantees there, Sammy. Can't salt through the coffin." Dean picked up the second shovel. He did not relish the idea of going back down there, but it was the only way. "Here's the plan. I'm going to jump in, shovel first. Hopefully, with a little luck, that will be enough to break the lid. You pull me out and we knock the lid off enough with the shovels to salt the corpse. Ready?"

"Dean, that's," Sam paused, tilting his head to one side, "stupid. We can salt it after we've burned it."

"Easier to make sure if the lid is broken, Sammy." Dean poised at the other side of the grave, shovel in both hands. "Just pull me right out."

One foot on the shovel, he jumped down. The feeling of being squeezed to death in a vice gripped him immediately, but Dean kept his mind on the task at hand. He felt and heard the lid burst beneath him, but he could not move. What the hell was Sam doing, anyway? He tried to lean closer to the side Sam was on. After an eternity, he felt those huge paws of his brother grabbing his arms and hauling him up. Finally!

As his chest passed the edge of the grave, Dean was able to pull in a breath. His arms worked again and he helped pull himself the rest of the way out. With an arm wave, he motioned for Sam to get to work. With a huff, Sam tossed salt and lighter fluid down. Looking back, Dean saw he had been able to split the lid completely open. Lucky. That couldn't last.

A mist rose from the other side of the grave. "Uh, Sam?" Dean watched as the mist swirled into one area. "Sam? You brought the shotgun, right?"

"Uh, I think it's in the car. Why?" Sam shook the last of the lighter fluid into the grave.

The mist formed the shape of a man. A large man. A large, angry man. Shit! Dean found his feet under him as he surged forward, tackling his brother to the ground as the spirit made a dash through the spot Sam was just standing in. From his position holding Sam to the ground, Dean looked for the spirit.

"Okay, Sam. New plan. I'll distract it while you light it up." He patted his brother on the shoulder before jumping up.

"Hey, asshole!" Dean shouted, moving away from Sam. "You done picking on wussy jocks? Ready for a real fight?"

His answer was in the form of being thrown, oh, about twenty feet through the air to land quite solidly on a headstone. He really hoped that cracking sound was marble and not bone. Of course, if he really hit a marble headstone hard enough to crack it, that was not good either. Dean pushed himself to his feet, casting his eyes around for Sam. There was a something moving over there, but was it Sam or the spirit? Why the hell wouldn't his eyes focus?

"Sammy?" he bellowed, his voice echoing in the still graveyard. "Sam!" Dean tried running back, but he was turned around, unsure of which way to go. A bright light caught his attention, flames. Dean ran toward it, but his chest complained. Ignoring the waves of pain, he dashed toward the light where his brother should be. He arrived, breathless, to find Sam standing stoically next to the burning grave.

At that moment, Dean realized his brother must feel even more tired than he did, otherwise Sam would have noticed the shovel lifting off the ground. Dean charged ahead, knocking his brother to the ground. When he looked up from laying protectively over Sam's prone form, he saw that damn shovel. It was headed his way. Shovels should not behave like that, he told himself, it was just wrong. Then pain erupted along his jaw, shoving him into the dark recesses of unconsciousness.

It was pain that woke him. At first Dean wanted to crawl back into the darkness where the pain could not reach him, then he thought of Sam. He forced his eyes to open, see where they were and what was happening. Sam's damned puppy dog eyes were staring straight down into his.

"Dean? You awake?"

He felt something shift under his head and realized it was Sam's legs. His head was in Sam's lap, like some girl? Dean blinked hard, forcing the blurriness from his vision as he pushed himself up. "Yeah." His voice sounded harsh to his ears, and weak. Damn it.

"Dude," Sam's monster hands helped him up, "you look like crap."

"Right back atcha," Dean grumbled, getting his feet under him. He watched, feeling beaten and exhausted, as Sam gathered their equipment. Not wanting to appear so weak, Dean bent over to grab the stupid shovel that clocked him. The ground chose that moment to buck up, hit him in his outstretched hand.

"Dean?" It was Sam, pulling him upright. "Don't do that."

He felt downright helpless as Sam picked up the last of their equipment. When he tried to take the duffel from his brother, after all it was only fair for him to carry it back when Sam carried it out here, Sam slapped his hand away. His brother gave him a nasty look before spinning him around, a little too fast, and shoving him in the direction of the car.

Dean's feet were a slightly unsteady, he had to admit, but he did not fall once on the way. As he reached for the driver's door, he felt Sam pulling on his arm again.

"Now what!" he snapped, patience gone.

"I'm driving," Sam replied, tossing the duffel into the back seat.

"It's my car and I'm driving," Dean said. He clenched his jaw, intent to hold in the frustration and anger threatening to boil over, when a sharp spike of pain struck, shooting from his jaw straight through to the top of his head. It was enough to knock the wind out of him, send him reeling to the side, grabbing the car to prevent himself from falling.

"Like I said," Sam's hands held him up, again, directing him to the passenger door, "I'm driving."

Dean groaned as Sam fussed over him and even closed the freaking door, like he was a child or something. He rode to the motel in silence, his best weapon at the moment. Sam did not speak either. That was a simple salt and burn, it never should have gotten out of control like that. How did they let that happen? Actually, Dean knew exactly how it happened. They were taking too many jobs, too fast, never really recovering from one before heading straight into another. This breakneck speed was new. At first Dean had enjoyed it, reveling in the fact they could go after so many things that way. Then he realized that his bruises had bruises. Soon he was sleeping even less than Sam. This was not good.

Dean waited until they were safely inside their motel room and Sam was in the shower before acting on the plan he conceived in the car. He pulled out his cell, scrolling swiftly through his phone list.

"Hello?" The deep baritone was one of the best damn things he had heard in months.

"Hey, Bobby. It's Dean."

"Dean!" The reserved tones melted away into familiarity. "How you boys doing?"

"Uh, actually," Dean stole a guilty glance at the closed bathroom door, "not too good. We could really use a break."

"Okay. That why you're calling me? Want to hang out here and work on that car of yours?"

Dean felt the grin slide onto his face. That did sound pretty great. "Well, really Bobby, I'm calling to see if you can talk Sam into it. The last few times I've suggested taking a break, Sam just pushed even harder to pick up a new hunt. Hell, we've done about ten just this month."

A low whistle came through the phone. "Damn, Dean. You boys'll get yourselves killed that way."

"Tell me about," he mumbled, before hurrying to add, "but if you suggested a good enough excuse, maybe Sam would listen. He sure won't listen to me."

There was a long enough pause to make Dean worry before Bobby's voice plowed into his ear with, "No problem, Dean. I'll call Sam first thing in the morning."

Dean let out the breath he did not know he was holding. "Thanks, Bobby." He closed his phone carefully, mindful of the fact the sound of running water just stopped. Dean slid the phone back onto the endtable, shutting his eyes and pretending to sleep.

---------------

Sam frowned at the first rays of morning that crept across the ceiling through the split in the cheap motel curtains. He hated this motel, far more than he should. He knew Dean loved it with the car theme, but there was something just creepy about sleeping on kiddie sheets. Dean laughed at him every time he had to pull down the comforter. He wondered what his face looked like to make Dean laugh like that. That sound was becoming far too rare these days.

He knew Dean would never admit it, but they were exhausted. Even if he suggested taking some time off, Sam was sure Dean would want to use it to do something dangerous or stupid, or both. How could he possibly convince his stubborn brother to take some time to just relax – hell, just heal up?

Sam swung his legs out of bed, sitting up. His eyes rested on the sleeping form of his brother. Dark smudges lined the underside of Dean's eyes and his jaw was red and swollen, the dark red a promise of a nasty bruise coming to the surface. Dean fell asleep last night before Sam could really check his brother for further injuries, and since Dean never, ever complained, Sam could only hope he would be given the chance this morning to see that his brother was no worse for wear.

And they were worn. Sam ran a hand through his thick hair, wondering when the gray would start growing. He hated to admit it, but they needed a break. If he kept pushing them like this, Dean was going to get really hurt. The kind you don't walk away from. When his brother went soaring through that graveyard last night, that had been Sam's worst fear: Dean not getting back up. He was so relieved to be tackled twice in the space of five minutes by his big brother, Sam barely noticed when Dean had been knocked unconscious. The fifteen minutes Dean was out had been the absolute longest fifteen minutes in his life.

Sam headed for his laptop, wondering if there was a good excuse to make a side-trip to the Grand Canyon. His cell phone went off as he waited for the laptop to boot up.

Sam picked it up, checking caller id. It was Bobby. With a deep sigh, Sam answered, figuring the older hunter was calling about a job.

"Hey, Bobby."

"Sam! How the hell are ya?"

Sam frowned at the wall. Bobby sounded a little too upbeat. Something was up. "Fine, Bobby. What's going on?"

Dean stirred, rolling over in bed.

"Well, Sam. I was wondering if you and that brother of yours would mind doing me a little favor?"

"Sam?" Dean sat up, running a hand over that tired and bruised face. "Who is it?"

Sam mouthed 'Bobby' before answering, "What kind of favor?"

Dean's eyebrows shot up, but he didn't get up. That really showed how tired Dean must be.

"Just keep an eye on my place for a few days. It's my busy season and there's this little hunting problem that needs my attention. Shouldn't take more than two or three days."

Sam nearly asked what the hunting problem was when it struck him that this was exactly the kind of thing they needed. "Sure, Bobby. I don't think it'll be a problem. I'll talk to Dean about it and call you back."

"Okay, Sam. I need to know pretty quick, though."

"Right. I'll call you back in a few minutes." Sam snapped his cell shut, leveling his gaze on that stubborn brother of his.

"What does Bobby want, Sam?" Dean asked, standing. Sam did not miss the slight wince as Dean stretched or the quick grimace when his brother turned to the side. "I'm ready."

Yeah, right, thought Sam. "He wants us to house-sit."

Dean gave him that patented Dean Winchester 'you've got to be kidding me' look. "Excuse me?"

"Bobby says he has to go on a job for a few days and needs someone to watch his place and the salvage yard." Sam watched for some sign of interest. "The car could probably use a tune-up. You'd have time for it there." He thought he saw Dean's eyes sparkle at the suggestion.

Dean shrugged. "What do you think?"

"Well," Sam knew he had to choose his words carefully or he would have to start researching their next hunt, "we do owe him."

Dean nodded thoughtfully. "A lot."

"So we'll do it?" Sam asked.

Dean's eyes cut to the side to look at him. "If you want to."

Sam frowned. Those decisions were usually Dean's, but he had been making a lot of those kinds of decisions lately. Had he been making all of them? That made up his mind, more than Dean's swollen jaw or the dark marks of exhaustion under his brother's eyes. If Dean Winchester backed down from making a decision for his little brother, some serious R&R was required. Sam lifted his cell, calling Bobby back.

"Bobby? We'll do it."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Sam hated to admit it, but Dean looked more relaxed than he had in weeks just driving out to Bobby's. The windows were down and his music blared from the speakers. Dean's left arm stuck out the window, fingers tapping a steady rhythm on the roof. Sam tried not to smile at the sight, secretly relieved that his brother took the idea of this break so well. From this side Sam could see the red welt on his brother's jaw was already darkening, threatening to become one large, nasty bruise before too long.

Sam sighed to himself, wondering when being so damned driven started to feel normal. He felt like he had to outrun this destiny, beat it to the punch. With another glance at Dean's ragged face, Sam sunk deeper into the seat. It would be nice to see Dean actually heal up before they went after something else, especially since this was all because of him. He also knew waiting that long would be really, really hard.

---------------

Dean tried hard not to grin like some maniac, but it was difficult. They were taking some time off! He was going to be able to give his baby some proper attention, of which she was in desperate need. He could hear a slight miss when he started her up, so needed to check the plugs. Well, he would start there anyway. After the plugs, Dean planned to change the oil, check the transmission and the carburetor, and anything else that would allow him to tinker around under the hood. He figured he could make some stuff up, Sam would never know the difference anyway. Maybe he could even invent a problem to buy them a few extra days at Bobby's.

The Impala hummed along the road, like it anticipated some renewal time at Bobby's too. Damn, his jaw hurt. He wished he could remember the moment that shovel connected with his jaw so he would know if there was that telltale sound of bone cracking. The way it hurt, Dean figured he had at least a fracture. Not that there was anything that could be done about it.

Sunlight glinted off bare metal and cracked windshields as they rounded the road toward Bobby's. A deep breath brought in scents of ragweed, rust and oil. Ah – home, sweet home.

Dean parked next to the house, nearly vibrating with excitement. A few days without worries, ghosts, spirits, demons or possessed people. It was like a dream come true. He might even be able to forget about that damn promise Sam tricked him into making. When Bobby walked out of the house to greet them, Dean did not realize he was hugging the old man until Bobby thumped him on the back. Hard. He let go, feeling rather embarrassed.

"Good to see ya, Dean. Sam." Bobby threw him a wink before greeting his brother. Sam shook Bobby's hand, shooting him a surprised look. Dean stepped back, shrugging. Seeing the other two men greeting each other as a distraction, Dean grabbed his bag from the car before heading inside.

"Where do you want us, Bobby?" he shouted, heading for the stairs.

"Your room," Bobby hollered. Dean grinned at the stairs. His room. Man, that sounded good. When was the last time anyone called a room his? Not since he was four, that was a safe bet.

------------------

Bobby grabbed Sam's arm as Dean charged up the stairs. "Sam? What the hell happened to you boys?"

"What do you mean, Bobby?" Sam asked, sounding perfectly innocent.

Bobby tore his eyes from the stairs to glare at the younger Winchester. "You know exactly what I mean, Sam. Why does Dean look like he just went ten rounds with a pissed off gorilla?"

Sam looked away, one foot shifting uneasily over the floor. Bobby knew that look: guilt. He waited, hoping Dean would take his time upstairs. When Sam's shoulders slumped down, Bobby knew he would get some answers. "Our last job didn't, uh, go too well."

"I can see that!" Bobby hissed. "I asked what happened."

Sam glanced toward the stairs. Bobby's eyes followed. Still no sign of Dean returning. "Well, after the spirit threw him across the graveyard, it hit him with a shovel."

Bobby felt his jaw drop. "With a shovel? And he just stood there and took it?"

Sam cleared his throat. "Not exactly. The shovel was, uh, coming at me." Sam rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "Dean knocked me out of the way, but I guess he wasn't fast enough to dodge it himself." He sighed, checking the stairs again. "He was out for about fifteen minutes, Bobby. I don't mind telling you, it scared the crap out of me. Your call couldn't have come at a better time."

"How's that?" According to Bobby's memory, which was damned good, it was Dean who called for his help, not Sam.

"We really need some downtime. Dean…" Sam sighed, shaking his head. "Well, you know how he is."

"Yeah. I do." Bobby tried not to frown. Not only were those boys exhausted, they were completely out of sync with each other. Never thought he'd see that day. "Why don't you see what's keeping that brother of yours. I'll go fire up the grill. We're having steak tonight."

Sam grinned at him. "You're the best, Bobby. Thanks. We really do owe you."

Bobby was trying to light the grill when Sam came outside. "Bobby? I think that can wait. Dean fell asleep."

Bobby laughed, picking up his platter of marinated steaks. "In that case, I'll go put these away. Beer?"

"Yeah, sure. Thanks." Sam said, sinking down into one of his lawn chairs. Inside, Bobby popped open two beers and added just a dash of holy water to Sam's. Sam certainly was not acting suspicious, but being cautious never hurt. Bobby handed Sam his doctored beer before taking the seat next to the boy. He watched Sam take a swig, no reaction other than to slump down in the chair a bit. Relieved, Bobby took a long pull on his own beer.

Sam shifted in his chair, staring out over the wrecks shielding his house from the big, bad world outside. "Something on your mind, Sam?" Bobby asked.

Sam sighed. "It's my fault, Bobby." He slumped further down in the chair, long legs stretched out. "I've been pushing too hard lately. I think Dean even suggested taking a break a week or two back, I don't remember."

"Why didn't you?" Bobby tried to keep the recrimination out of his voice, but it was difficult.

Sam shrugged. "I thought he just wanted it for me. Sometimes I forget, you know?" Wide, hazel eyes turned to him.

"Forget what, Sam?" Bobby took another swig of beer.

"Dean's not indestructible either." Sam sighed, eyes drifting back over the salvage yard.

Bobby chose not to comment on that one, focusing instead on his cold grill. "You know, I was having some trouble lighting that grill. Want to take a look at it?"

Sam hunkered his large frame over the grill for ten or fifteen minutes, trying to get it to light. No luck. Sam shook his head in frustration. "That's more Dean's thing." He checked his watch, settling back into his chair. "I'm sure he'll be up in about an hour."

"Or what? You'll go wake him up?" Bobby asked, knowing the answer when Sam's eyes lit up and a sneaky grin crossed the younger man's face. Bobby chuckled, taking a swig of his beer.

----------------------

Dean woke in a darkened room, alone. His first thought was to wonder where the hell Sam might have gone, and if his brother would be back. Sam promised not to do that again, but…better safe than sorry. He should call. Attempting to sit up, a sharp pain shot through him taking his breath away.

Grasping the edge of the bed, Dean tried to catch his breath. Yep, that cracking noise in the graveyard was definitely his ribs. Okay, now he needed Bobby to come up with a reason to keep them here for at least a few weeks. Wasn't Bobby just going to love that? The pain ebbed away to the point he could take a breath and hold it. Not good enough to actually walk downstairs and look for Sam if he didn't need to, but he could make that call.

Dean pulled his cell phone out, pressing the button to dial Sam. It rang twice before his brother answered.

"Dean? What are you doing?"

He took another breath before answering, "Hey Sam. Just wondering what you're up to. Still at Bobby's?"

"Yeah, Dean. But you'd know that if you'd bother to come downstairs instead of calling." Sam sounded pissy. Damn it. "Or is there a reason you're staying in bed?"

Uh-oh. "Nope," Dean pushed himself to a stand. "Be right down." He heard Sam about to protest as he snapped his cell shut. Now he had to make it downstairs before little brother decided to come check up on him. Fortunately, so far Sam had been so concerned with his jaw, his ribs managed to escape undetected. If Sam caught him wincing when he got out of bed, that might change.

Funny how much easier it was to walk upstairs than it was to go downstairs. Each step jarred his ribs, sending a blast of pain to envelop his ribcage. Life was so unfair, but what else was new? Dean concentrated so hard to make it downstairs, he did not notice Bobby watching him from the kitchen.

"Dean?"

Well, that clinched it. He was definitely exhausted if an old guy like Bobby could get the drop on him like that. "Hey, Bobby. Any dinner plans?"

Bobby frowned at him. "Dean, is there anything wrong with you other than that jaw?"

Dean tried to look pained that Bobby would ask such a thing. "I'm fine, Bobby."

Bobby's beer clunked as he slammed it down on the table. "Dean." The older man glared at him. "Where are you hurt?"

Dean scoffed, rolling his eyes. "It's nothing, Bobby. I'm fine." He headed for the kitchen door, intending to claim a chair outside.

Bobby's arm blocked his way. "Dean, did I ever mention to you that I've redone my priority list?" Dean's stomach plummeted. Bobby wouldn't dare. "Guess what number one is now?"

He looked over, meeting Bobby's glare. "Helping us kill that yellow-eyed bastard?" he growled, trying to make it clear that was the only answer he would accept.

"That's number two. Want to guess again?" Bobby's eyes narrowed. Really, if Bobby for an instant thought that he could…

Dean glared back. "Not especially."

Bobby pointed to a corner of the room. "That's nice and secluded over there. So, Dean, how're you feeling these days?" Bobby's face was hard and unyielding. The old guy was not kidding.

Dean looked over at the corner Bobby pointed out. It was the same spot Dad once made him strip down to be checked over after a hunt. Dean swallowed hard. "Couple of cracked ribs, and you can see the jaw," he admitted. "But don't tell Sam."

"Why not?" Bobby demanded, concerned eyes gauging him. "Don't you think he ought to know about your ribs?"

Dean shook his head, worries spinning through his mind. "He, uh, has plenty on his mind already. I don't want to dump anything else on him."

Bobby frowned. "You trying to tell me this isn't just typical Dean Winchester downplaying his injuries?"

Dean tried to grin, but his heart wasn't in it. "It's just been tough lately, Bobby. I need Sam to know he can always depend on me, no matter what."

"Why?" Bobby turned to the fridge, pulling out a fresh beer. He offered it to Dean after opening it inside the fridge, which Dean thought was a little odd.

Dean accepted the beer gratefully. Maybe it meant the inquisition was over. He shrugged, taking a long pull on the bottle. Man, that tasted good. "I just do, Bobby. Sam found out that I was keeping a secret from him. Pissed him off."

"Was that when he took off on you?" Bobby asked, leaning against the doorframe.

"Yeah," Dean admitted. "I guess I had it coming."

"Why?" Bobby's eyes bored into him.

Dean sighed. "Because I told him what Dad said."

Bobby rubbed a hand over his face, looking at Dean sympathetically. "The one about you needing to save Sam?"

Dean nodded, taking another swig of his beer. Bobby stared at him. "You know I never thought your daddy should have laid that on you."

"Yeah." Dean shrugged. "Me either. You were right about Dad. He was an ass to do that."

Bobby chuckled, taking a deep pull on his bottle. "Yeah, I know. Just wish I'd figured it out before you beat the crap outta that car of yours. You have any idea what it took to replace that trunk?" Bobby headed into the other room. "Be right back."

Dean leaned against the doorframe, waiting for the older man to come back. He suspected Bobby was looking for some painkillers or something.

"Dean? What's keeping you?" Sam's tall, lanky frame appeared in the screen door. The sight was so familiar from their previous visit, Dean had to suppress an urge to yell at Sam for being outside by himself.

"Just talking to Bobby," Dean said. "I'll be out in a minute."

Sam frowned, pulling the door open. He stepped inside, his intense gaze evaluating Dean. Dean leaned casually against the doorframe, sipping on his beer. "Problem, Sammy?"

Bobby chose that moment to walk back in, opening a pill bottle. He poured a couple of white pills out into Dean's hand. "Take those."

Dean nodded, not bothering to ask what the pills were. Whatever it was, it had to be better than submitting to an examination over in the corner.

"What was that?" Sam demanded, reaching for the pill bottle in Bobby's hand. Bobby handed it over.

"He should probably take two of those about three times a day. At least until you can get him in for x-rays and his own prescription." Bobby explained as Dean winced. Didn't he just finish explaining to Bobby that he did not want this?

"Dean," Bobby pointed out the door, "do me a favor. Go see if you can light my grill. I couldn't get it to catch earlier."

"Sure," Dean headed for the door, "no problem." Finally, something he had control over.


	3. Chapter 3

Okay, having a really, really bad week so I figured I'd better post this a little early in case things get worse. Here's to hoping you all enjoy it. _**Hotshow**_, my editor on this fic, will be going on vacation soon. Fortunately, I've finished enough chapters to continue posting once a week in her absence. Have a great vacation, _**hotshow**_!!

**Chapter 3**

Sam glared at his brother's back. He moved to follow, but Bobby held him back. Redirecting his most intense gaze on the older hunter, Sam faced him. "What?" he demanded. "I need to go see what's wrong with Dean."

"From the sounds of it, some cracked ribs," Bobby explained calmly, not releasing his shoulder. "Which means you two will need to stay more than a few days."

"What?" Sam shoved the hand off his shoulder. "I got Dean to agree to two or three days. There is no way…"

"He'll stay longer if you want him to, Sam." Bobby sighed. "Now, Sam, I don't know exactly what's been going on between you two, but I've never seen Dean so exhausted. And I don't think it's all physical." One of Bobby's thick fingers prodded him in the chest. "I think you can use the time off, too. You boys look like death warmed over."

An uncomfortable silence settled over the kitchen. Sam broke it with a deep breath. "Did he really admit to the ribs?"

"Well, it took some persuasion," Bobby's face cracked with a small grin, "but he did."

"You may have to tell me how you did that." Sam looked him in the eye. "Especially if we're going to be here for a little while."

The small grin blossomed into a wide smile. "Ask me next week. For now, let's go check on Dean and that grill, huh?" Bobby clapped a hand on Sam's shoulder as he propelled the younger man outside.

---------------------

He heard the door swing open, the rusty hinges squeaking their displeasure. Dean frowned at the grill. It was pretty obvious why it would not light, the gas jet was plugged.

"I'm gonna need some help here," Dean told them. "We need to take the grill apart. Bobby? Tools?"

Whatever those white pills were, they were working. Dean felt pretty good. Sure, he felt a twinge every now and then when he moved the wrong way, but nothing like before. They dismantled the grill until Dean could get down to the jets. He took them off and blew out the gunk clogging it. He took some satisfaction in reassembling the grill, making sure everything was just so. When he fired it up this time, the grill flared brightly.

"Bring on the meat!" Dean grinned at them, brushing his hands off on his jeans.

"Sit down," Sam snapped, shoving him into a chair. As he started to protest, guilt flashed across Sam's face. "I'll get you a beer."

Not one to pass up on a beer, especially one being delivered by his brother, Dean stayed in his chair. Sammy returned just behind Bobby. Bobby tossed the steaks on the grill while Sam handed over a cold beer. Dean popped the top off, flipping the cap over his head. He heard it hit the house behind him with a plink. Not exactly a satisfying noise, but a familiar one.

"Dean," Sam whined, looking behind them for the cap.

"It's a salvage yard, Sam." Dean rolled his eyes, sipping his beer. "Anyone who would walk outside barefoot would have to be crazy anyway."

Well, what did you know? Dean-logic did work on Sam sometimes. Little brother settled back, watching the grill-master prepare their steak dinner. Dean heard another ping. Surprised, he looked over at Sam. His brother's hand was still in the air and a goofy grin filled that boyish face. He held out his beer bottle to toast Sam's sudden departure from obnoxious goody-two-shoe-ness. Their bottles clinked and Dean settled deeper into his chair, the drugs and alcohol working their magic. He grinned, enjoying the moment.

"So, Bobby," Sam spoke up, "what are you after?"

"What do you mean, Sam?" Bobby did not turn around from the grill.

"The hunt. What are you going after?" Sam shot Dean a quizzical look. Dean decided to play it safe. He shrugged and looked curiously at Bobby.

When Bobby turned around he shot Dean a hard look, which was promptly ignored. "Oh, uh, possession." Bobby nodded. "Got a nasty possession about a day's drive from here. Shouldn't take too long."

Sam nodded. "Well, if you want us to stick around for a while, I'm going to need something to do."

Dean snapped his head to the side. "Stick around for a while?" he demanded. "Sam, I thought you were in a hurry to get back on the road, back to hunting." He watched Sam shrug, as though indifferent. "Saving people?" What happened to that  
Sam from the hotel, who was so upset over not being able to save every single person they came across that he drunk himself into a stupor?

"Now that's a thought," Sam said with a nod. "Bobby, I could start researching hunts. See what I can turn up."

Bobby nodded over the steaks. Dean felt dread fill him. That sounded more like Sam, and the last thing he needed was Sam having some extra time to research hunts. His little brother was far too adept at finding things to hunt these days as it was. What if Sam had another ten hunts lined up for when they left in a few days? The prospect was chilling.

"When I get back, I can start lining up hunters to go after whatever you turn up," Bobby said with a grunt.

Dean looked between them suspiciously as Sam replied, "Sounds good."

"What the hell is going on here?" Dean asked.

Sam glared at him. "Until we know exactly how bad you're hurt, Dean, we are on vacation. But that doesn't mean I'm going to stop trying to save people." Sam took a swig of beer. "So just relax. I'm not going after anything by myself, or without you."

Dean frowned. Even though the prospect of staying at Bobby's for maybe a week or two sounded great, he was not sure about this new attitude of Sam's. Where the hell did that come from?

-----------------------

Sam watched the flood of emotions crossing his brother's face as guilt filled him. God, when did he turn into such a task-master? Had he really been that bad lately? Judging by the look of disbelief now on his brother's face, Sam decided he must have been. Okay, that needed to change. Now.

"I'm not," he repeated, staring at Dean. Dean looked suspicious, but gave a short nod anyway.

Ever since he took off in the middle of the night, Dean watched him with that weird look. It was like his brother could not decide if he was angry or hurt or just scared. The fact he could cause all of those things in his big brother was really disturbing. Not to mention frightening.

Dean was always the one who took charge and made the decisions, but not lately. No, lately Sam made all the decisions and found all the hunts and called all the shots. If he had to be honest with himself, it was downright draining. He really hoped after that incident at the haunted hotel that Dean would step back into the big brother role. Not yet.

Sam tossed his brother another grin, hoping it looked natural and carefree. Dean seemed to relax a little. Speaking of which, how the hell did he not notice his stupid brother covering up another injury? Seriously, Sam used to be the master of telling when his brother was hurt and now freaking broken ribs escaped his notice? Maybe Bobby was right. Maybe they both needed this break. Dean needed to heal. He needed some perspective.

-------------

After dinner, Bobby watched the Winchester boys head upstairs to bed. They both looked exhausted. He shook his head. Well, at least they came here before killing themselves out on the road with that kind of frenzied hunting. Experienced hunters like them should know better, he reasoned. Something must have happened.

Footsteps on the stairs drew his attention. Sam stood on the bottom step, studying him.

"Hey, Bobby?" Sam headed across the room, looking more worried now than Dean did when he threatened to make the boy strip in the corner. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything, Sam." Bobby replied with a nod. Sam could ask anything. It did not mean he intended to answer, but Sam was certainly allowed to ask.

"Did, uh," Sam shifted, eyes darting to the stairs as his voice dropped to a whisper, "did Dean call you?"

Bobby leaned in. "About what?" he whispered.

Sam swallowed hard. "About coming here?"

"Sam?" Bobby hissed. "Is there a reason we're whispering?"

Sam sighed, looking disappointed. "I guess not. Good night, Bobby," Sam said in his normal voice, heading for the stairs.

Bobby felt like he just dodged a major bullet. Betraying Dean's confidence was not a healthy occupation. He was pretty confident that Dean would not do anything to him, physically anyway. At least those boys would be staying for a while. Dean's face looked like he went ten rounds with a concrete block. No, wait, that was a shovel, right? A shovel. Bobby shook his head at the thought.

More out of habit than anything, Bobby watched Sam cross the room heading for the stairs. He spotted the crude clay pot in Sam's way before Sam did. "Watch it!" Bobby shouted, jumping up from his desk, but it was too late.

Bobby figured Sam must be distracted, because one of his huge feet slammed right down into the red and orange streaked pot as his head whipped around to look at Bobby. Sam cringed as the pot crumpled under his sneaker, causing a breaking noise that filled the house.

"Sam?" Dean's voice bellowed from upstairs.

"It's fine, Dean!" Sam shouted, bending over to inspect the damage.

The sounds of running footsteps echoed in the house as Dean bolted down the stairs, eyes wide. "What the hell was that?"

Sam sighed. "I guess I wasn't paying attention to where I was walking." Sam lifted his foot gingerly off the remains of the pot. "I'm really sorry about that, Bobby. Was it valuable? I'll find a way to pay you back."

Bobby took in the shattered pieces. It was definitely beyond repair. "No real harm done, Sam. A friend of a friend sent it to me. He thought there might be something funny about it, but I hadn't been able to find anything. I offered to send it back a few weeks ago, but the guy said that he didn't want it back." Bobby shrugged. "You know where the broom is."

Out of the corner of his eye, Bobby watched Sam head toward the kitchen. The moment Sam was out of sight, he noticed Dean's hand raise to clutch at one side.

"That the bad side, Dean?" Bobby asked, peering over the top of the paper he pretended to read.

Dean scowled, arm dropping to his side. "It's fine."

"Uh-huh." Bobby's eyes dropped back down to his paper. He needed to find a likely possession subject. Sam was sure to ask questions when he came back.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Dean felt the sun beating down on his back and smelled the dust in the air. He felt perfectly content. His baby was finally getting the attention she deserved. Amazing the difference a fresh set of spark plugs could make. Dean wanted to change the oil this morning as well, but he really did not see himself crawling on the ground on his back to drain the oil. Not with the way his ribs felt. He wondered if he could guilt Sam into doing it.

"Dean!"

Well, speak of the devil…

"Hey, Dean! Think you can look for some of these parts later today?" Sam asked as he crossed the yard to the Impala. He held a yellow page in his hand. "I figured since Bobby left this morning, we could get a jump on some of his back-orders."

Dean took the paper from his brother and frowned at it. Sam did like those stupid yellow legal pads. "All of these? Sammy, there must be thirty things on here."

"I said some, Dean, not all," Sam huffed. His brother pulled in a deep breath. "Dean? I just got off the phone with George."

Dean rolled his eyes. "George? How the hell did you get George's number?"

Sam held up a cell phone. "I used your phone. You forgot to put it in your pocket this morning." He held it out.

Dean left the damn phone upstairs on purpose. He did not want anything to ruin his few precious days off, and that included getting checked out. "And?" he demanded, stuffing the phone in his pocket and feeling justifiably irritated.

Sam glared as his voice took on the commanding tone that Dean heard entirely too much lately. "AND George said he'd like you to come in about ten, so we should get going."

Dean groaned. "Come on, Sam. There's nothing they can do for busted ribs anyway."

Sam pulled out the bottle of little white pills and shook it in Dean's face. "You'll be out of these by tomorrow, Dean. There's no reason for you to put up with the pain, so let's go."

"I want to change the oil, Sam." This might be his only chance to get Sam to agree to it.

"So?" Sam shrugged. "Change it."

"I have to get under the car to drain all the oil out." Dean waited a moment. Sam shrugged again. He sighed. "That means I'd have to lay down on the ground and crawl under the car on my back." He mimed scooting on his back, using his elbows.

Sam's eyes widened. "Oh." His brother's eyes darted between him and the car. "I don't think you should be doing that."

"No kidding." Dean rolled his eyes. "So? You going to help me out on that or not?"

Sam grimaced. "Is that the only way I'm going to get you to see George?"

"No." Dean smiled smugly. "I'd love to meet him for a beer."

"Fine." Sam sighed, lifting his eyes to the heavens. Like there would be any help coming from that direction. "After we get back. You ready?"

Dean wiped his hands off on a shop rag. "Ready."

Sam sighed again. Oh, now what? "Dean, at least go wash your hands first."

"Dude," Dean shot a glare at his brother, "you're the one in a hurry."

He headed toward the house when Sam's voice stopped him "Dean? You, uh, haven't seen my toothbrush, have you?"

Dean turned slowly. Yes, Sam looked serious. "Your toothbrush?"

"Yeah. It, uh," Sam paused, looking guilty. "It isn't where I left it."

"No, Sam. I have not seen your toothbrush." Dean turned away, suppressing another sigh or a groan, whatever was trying to crawl up his throat.

"Well," Sam followed him back to the house, "it's just that I can't find it. I know I left it in the bathroom."

"I didn't touch it, Sam," Dean protested as he headed for Bobby's kitchen sink. Fortunately Bobby kept really good hand cleaner in the kitchen.

"I'm not saying you did, I'm just saying it isn't where I left it. I had to brush my teeth this morning with my finger." Sam's voice pounded at him from behind. This was a typical Sam-tactic.

"Whatever," he grumbled under the cover of the water in the sink.

"What, Dean?"

"Nothing." Dean shut off the water, drying his hands with one of Bobby's kitchen towels. "Nothing."

"Ready?" Sam started to sound irritated, like his hands should have been perfectly clean after changing the spark plugs.

Dean rolled his eyes again, heading for the car without saying anything more. If Sam heard how irritated he was at this moment Sam would be annoyed or just plain mad. Silence was safer. He carefully slid in behind the wheel of his car, trying not to jostle his ribs too much. Since Sam already knew, he did not have to pretend everything was fine and normal. He could feel Sam's eyes on him, watching every twinge that crossed his face.

As they pulled out of the salvage yard, Sam opened the glove compartment. "Dean? Do you think George will let us use one of the insurance cards? How good of a friend is he?"

"Don't worry about it, Sam. I think we have a credit with the hospital these days." Dean waved it off. The truth was that there had been a nice sum of money left over after paying all their bills from last time. Bobby stuck it in an account for them if they ever needed it for hospital bills or recuperation at his place again.

"Dean." Sam's voice took on an accusing tone. "What is this?"

Dean glanced over. Sam held up a familiar looking toothbrush. "What the hell was that doing in there?"

"That's what I was going to ask you, Dean. We aren't starting up that practical joke crap again, are we?" Sam glared at him.

"Hey, I did not put that there," Dean stated.

"Just…" Sam sighed, staring at the toothbrush in his hand. "Just knock it off, okay?"

"Sam. I didn't do it," Dean insisted.

"Then who did, Dean?" Sam demanded. "You trying to tell me someone broke into Bobby's, stole my toothbrush and hid it in your car?"

"No." Dean could not push the irritation out of his voice. "Maybe you put it there."

A loud Sammy huff filled the car. "Why the hell would I put my toothbrush in the glove compartment?"

"How should I know, Sam?" Dean snapped, not even bothering to suppress his irritation.

"Fine." Sam threw his toothbrush back in and slammed the door on the glove compartment shut.

"Watch it," he growled. He really did not want to fix that damn little door again. It was a bitch to get to work again after the wreck.

Sam looked away, refusing to make eye contact. Great. Perfect. That was just typical of his life these days. Dean sighed heavily, trying to concentrate on the road so he would not have to think about his brother.

---------------

Dean's sigh pierced right through him, leaving guilt in its wake. Sam could not shake it off. Dean really sounded sincere, and why was he so worked up about a stupid toothbrush anyway? It's not like he couldn't go buy another one. Actually, looking at those splayed bristles, Sam figured he was probably past due for a new one. Maybe Dean hid it as a hint that he should go buy a new toothbrush?

Sam turned to the window so he could breathe into his hand without Dean seeing. He sniffed his hand, trying to determine if he had bad breath from using a toothbrush past its lifespan. If his breath did smell, it couldn't be that bad. Sam wiped his hand off on his sleeve. He noticed Dean eyeing him, so he pretended something out the window caught his eye.

What was it going to take to get Dean acting like Dean again? Sam really did not get it. When Dean started holding back, deferring to Sam on the decisions, he thought it was guilt. After all, no one could best Dean when it came to carrying around guilt. He suspected Dean even felt guilty over their mom's death, even though there was nothing a four year old could have possibly done.

He tried to think back to when this new behavior of Dean's began. It was difficult to pinpoint, this had been a really crappy year. Okay, right after Dad died Dean was erratic, but still did the take-charge thing. Sure, he gave in to what Sam wanted, to a point. Finding that zombie chick proved that. Dean refused to back down on that hunt, to the point of driving a wedge between them. Wait, is that when it started? Because Sam did not believe him?

No, Dean still acted like himself right up to that stupid vision Sam had of Dean blowing some poor guy away. That led them to Rivergrove. Damn it! Rivergrove. That had to be it. As usual, he questioned everything Dean did, right up until his brother actually backed down. Although Sam had been immensely relieved at the time, right afterwards Dean had been so withdrawn it frightened him. Then Dean told him Dad's big secret and, yes, he was beyond angry. He was full blown mad. Took off that night to search for answers. So – between calling Dean a monster and taking off, maybe Dean got the idea if Sam was not in charge that he would leave? Ooooooohhhhhhh mmmmaaaannnnnnnn…

Sam slammed his head against the window. How stupid can he be?

"Sam?" A strong hand yanked at his shoulder, pulling him away from the window. "Sam."

"What?" Did that really sound as miserable as he felt?

"You okay?" The car swerved off the road. Sam felt his heartrate pick up as he looked over into Dean's panicked face. "Sam!"

"I'm fine, Dean," he breathed out, trying to inject some confidence into his voice.

The big car slammed to a halt. "Sam, what happened!" Dean pushed his shoulder, trying to force him to look his brother in the eye. Somehow, he just could not do it.

"My, uh, elbow slipped." Sam shrugged, studying his hands.

"Your elbow?" Dean demanded. "Not some vision or something?"

Sam did look up then. "No. It wasn't a vision." He watched Dean's entire frame relax some as his brother's brow furrowed.

"So what was it, then? Your head hit the window, Sam." Dean grabbed his chin, trying to turn his head.

Sam wanted to push Dean's hands away, but this was the most in-charge Dean acted in over a month. He let his brother examine his head, prod his temple with fingers far too experienced at this type of thing. Finally Dean gave him a quick nod. "Doesn't look too bad. You might have a bruise there later."

He nodded back as Dean put the car in drive. "Won't compare with yours."

Half a smile flickered across Dean's face. "You know, Sam, if you're jealous of how good this bruise looks on me…" Dean waved a hand near his jaw. The red turned nearly black overnight as evidence of the bruise coming to the surface.

Sam punched his brother lightly on the upper arm. "Shut up."

Dean chuckled. "I could help with that."

Sam felt a chuckle escape his lips. "No thanks."

"Okay, little brother. Just trying to help you out."

Sam watched Dean's expression. His brother looked amused. Well, at least it was a step in the right direction. "Yeah, right," he snorted. Dean barked out a short laugh, which sounded wonderful to Sam's ears.


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks to everyone following this. This chapter won't answer your questions, but those answers are coming! They have been written!! (Not blessed by _**hotshow**_, who is still on vacation, but written!)**  
**

**Chapter 5**

Sam was once again surprised by his big brother when Dean walked into the hospital and called the receptionist by her first name. A few passing nurses stopped to talk to him and somehow Dean knew all their names, too. Since when did Dean remember women's names? They called Sam 'Sammy', which he automatically corrected.

"Jeez, Sammy," Dean mumbled as they headed up the stairs, "relax, would you?"

"What?" Sam looked over in surprise, more shocked to see the quick grimace of pain on his brother's face. Damn it, they shouldn't have taken the stairs. "What did I do?"

"Liz and Emily. They were just being nice. You didn't have to jump down their throats like that," Dean explained. Sam noticed all possible emotion drain from his brother's face as he looked for additional signs of pain.

With a sigh more of frustration than remorse, Sam nodded. "I just hate other people calling me that."

"Sure. Now."

Sam flinched. That's right, he probably knew those nurses when he had that freaky amnesia. Sam was pretty sure Dean had no idea just how rare regressive amnesia was. The one time he tried to explain it, his brother just brushed him off. He suspected that had been harder on Dean than his brother ever let on.

"Sorry," he mumbled. How much worse could he feel? He wondered if there was any more crap just waiting to dump on his head.

Sam pushed his hand along the stair rail when it slipped off into space. As he lurched forward, his balance thrown temporarily off, Sam clutched at the empty air searching for the railing. An ear shattering crash from below of metal on tile told him what happened to the rail.

When his shoulder was caught in a vice-like grip, Sam was not surprised. He glanced into Dean's worried face. "You okay, Sammy?"

Sam nodded, unable to understand why the rail would just fall away like that. "I'm okay, Dean. No one was hurt, were they?" He tried to move closer to the edge of the stairs to look, but his brother held him back.

"We'll check from upstairs," Dean said as he was forced to climb the last few steps to the second floor. With a final shove, Dean passed him to look out over the lobby. Sam had to settle for looking over his brother's shoulder. He let out a loud sigh of relief at the fact it looked like no one was hurt.

"Ginny!" Dean shouted down. "Hey, what the hell happened? Anyone hurt?"

"No," the woman with silver hair called up from the receptionist's desk. "Everyone down here is fine. I'll call maintenance."

Dean waved before turning around with a scowl and furrowed forehead. "This is weird."

"That's not something you see everyday," Sam agreed, still trying to get a better view of the damage below. Dean shoved him away. Sam would protest, maybe even try to force his way back, except for two things: one, Dean was acting like he should, the big brother, and two, he did not want Dean to hurt those ribs any more by struggling with him.

Sam followed his brother until Dean stopped short at the waiting area. Once again his brother's face was inscrutable. Sam stepped around him to sign Dean in to see George. As he signed in Dean Cooper, a familiar voice made him look up.

"Mornin' Sam!"

"Hey, George." Sam grinned. "Good to see you."

"Been a while." George stepped up behind the receptionist to check the book. "Just one person ahead of your brother. See you in about fifteen minutes." George waved behind Sam. Sam glanced back to see Dean offer a short wave. George disappeared behind a door.

Sam walked back to where Dean found a place to sit. "George said it would be about fifteen minutes."

"Translation: sit around for at least half an hour before we get to you." Dean snorted. "You and your brilliant ideas."

Sam rolled his eyes. Honestly, Dean could really be a pain in the ass. "You're about to run out of pain pills, Dean."

Dean shrugged, looking at him. "I can get those if I need them."

"How?" Sam demanded, glaring.

"I'm not helpless," he mumbled, eyes drifting away.

Sam turned to see what caught his brother's attention, but he saw no signs of a woman walking past. He ran both hands through his hair, attempting to reign in his frustration. This was unknown territory. Dean had always just been Dean. Now that Dean was not acting like himself most of the time, Sam felt out of his depth. He was in unknown waters and squalls kept popping up to blow him off-course.

"Dean," Sam worked to keep his voice soft and level, "I never said that. I'm just worried about you. I'd like to be sure it's just your ribs." His mind screamed 'since you won't let me check,' but he managed not to let that out.

"Since when?"

The question was so soft, Sam was not sure it came from his brother. He looked around, but no one was near them. "Since when what?" Sam asked.

Dean's eyes were cold when they focused on him. "Since when have you been so worried about me?"

Sam clutched the chair he sat in. "Oh, I don't know," he hissed, feeling that anger rise up again. "Maybe since you had a heart attack? Since you were in a coma in the hospital? Since you were out cold for at least fifteen minutes in the middle of a graveyard!"

Dean waved off Sam's response like it didn't matter. Sam slumped down in his chair, frustration coming over him like a tidal wave. He refused to speak again until they called his brother. Clearly Dean had the same idea. His brother would not even look at him.

"Dean Cooper." A nurse poked her head out of the door George disappeared behind earlier.

Dean stood without sparing a glance for Sam and headed for the door. Sam fell in step behind his brother. If Dean thought for an instant that little disagreement was going to stop him from going in, big brother had better think again. Sure enough, Dean shot him a dirty look as he stepped into the small exam room. Instead of the nurse asking the usual questions about why they were here, she and Dean engaged in some small talk about her family before she left them alone.

"So how much were we at the hospital last time, anyway?" Sam asked, still blown away by the fact his brother seemed to know everyone.

"Too much," Dean sighed.

"Because of the strokes?" Sam asked, keeping his voice soft. Dean nodded, still not looking at him. "But that wasn't why you met George, was it?"

Dean shook his head. "Nope. That was because Doc Wayne is a freaking busybody."

"Which is why he's such a good doctor," George's voice cut through the room as the door shut behind him. "So, Dean, you're back." He grinned widely as he shook Dean's hand.

"Good to see you, George," Dean said with a smile.

"And what brings you here instead of meeting me at a bar?" George asked, opening a folder and flipping to a fresh page.

Dean glared at Sam. Sam guessed that meant he should answer for his brother. "Dean fell a few days ago. I'm worried that he may have cracked some ribs."

"Let me guess." George's eyes sparkled as he looked at Dean. "It's nothing, right?"

That lop-sided grin emerged on Dean's face. "Yep. Nothing."

"Good." George beamed and Sam's heart sank. What was wrong with this guy? "Then you won't mind removing your shirt so I can take a look."

Sam's heart instantly lifted as Dean's face fell. He always did like George. Really.

"I don't see why," Dean protested. "It hardly bothers me."

Sam snorted. He didn't mean to, but he did and he was not sorry in the least. Especially when he saw George's eyes narrow on Dean.

"Then you shouldn't mind if I take a look, Dean. Come on, or will I have to cut it off?" George headed for the cabinets on the far side of the room. He took out a large pair of scissors.

Dean scowled, so Sam put in, "And I'll help him."

"Fine," Dean sighed, sounding like he was barely putting up with them. He slowly removed his outer plaid shirt. Before lifting his black t-shirt, he took a deep breath. Sam watched, intrigued. Sam always wondered how Dean could appear perfectly fine when there was something really painfully wrong with him. Holding his breath, Dean lifted the black t-shirt up.

Sam gasped, eyes bulging. Dean's left side was one huge bruise, angry red and purple. "Looks worse than it is," Dean said, catching Sam's eye. It would have been more convincing if his brother didn't sound out of breath when he said it.

"Uh-huh." Sam crossed both arms over his chest as he glowered at his stubborn brother.

A low whistle pierced the room. "Fell, huh? Off a house, maybe?" George lifted Dean's left arm to peer at the battered flesh. "I want to do some x-rays."

Dean's eyes rolled and Sam felt immense relief. George grabbed Dean's chin then. "Did this happen when you fell, too?"

Dean nodded, eyes cold.

"Then we'll get some x-rays of that. I'm sure nothing could pierce that thick skull of yours, but let's make sure." George jotted something down in his folder. "Don't bother getting dressed, I'll get a gown for you to wear while we do the x-rays." He glanced up at Dean's face. "Okay, so I owe you a couple of beers now. Happy?"

"Thrilled," Dean muttered as a smile flashed across George's face.

"Back in a minute." George hurried out of the exam room.

Dean glowered at Sam. "Happy?"

Sam beamed at his brother. "Yes, I am."

"Because I'm sitting here half-naked waiting for x-rays?" Dean demanded, arms crossing over his bare chest.

"No." Sam pushed off the wall so he could stand over his brother and look him in the eye. "Because now I won't have to sit around wondering if there is something really wrong with you." He took a deep breath before plowing through with the admission he needed to make. "Because this has all been my fault. I've been pushing too hard lately. And Dean, if anything really bad happened to you because of me…"

"Hey, whoa! Slow down there!" Dean's eyes widened in alarm. "Your fault? Sam, it isn't your fault I got myself thrown halfway through a cemetery." Dean shrugged. "Occupational hazard. That's all. Don't worry about it."

"Don't worry about it?" Sam demanded, stepping closer. "And if the same thing had happened to me, would you not worry about it?"

"Sam," Dean had that bewildered expression, "that's not the same thing."

"Really? And why…" But Sam's next question was interrupted by the door opening again.

"Here you are, Dean." A thin hospital gown, the kind with the ties in the back, landed on Dean's head. Dean pulled it off scowling.

"I can leave my pants on, right? You don't need to x-ray below my stomach." Dean slipped it on, grimacing as he reached around to secure the ties. Sam reached out to take them from his brother and tie them himself.

"That's fine," George agreed. "No one wants to see your ass hanging out anyway."

"Well," Dean grinned, "I don't know about that."

Sam rolled his eyes at George, who chuckled. "The x-ray technician is a guy."

"Nevermind." Dean agreed with a nod, sliding off the exam table. "Not my type."

Sam followed closely, determined that Dean not squirm out of this at the last minute. Besides, he wanted to see Dean's x-rays for himself. He needed to know that the only thing wrong with his brother was just some cracked or broken ribs. Dean could recover from that, it wouldn't be the first time. Just so long as there weren't any internal injuries. He tried to push the image of Dean in a coma from his mind, but it kept filtering to the front.

"Sammy?"

Sam found Dean staring at him. "Huh? What?"

"You okay?" Dean wore that classic worried-big-brother expression which brought a smile to Sam's face.

"Fine." Sam nodded to reassure his brother. "No problem."

Dean hung back, grabbing Sam's arm. "You looked, well," Dean's voice dropped to a whisper, "scared."

Sam grabbed his brother and spun him around to march into the room where x-rays were conducted. "I won't be once I know there's nothing else wrong with you." He shoved his brother toward George.

"Okay, Dean. I'll try to make this quick," George promised. Sam hoped that was a promise George could keep. His brother was not always long on patience.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Sam slumped against the wall, relieved. "So it's just cracked ribs? Nothing else?"

George shook his head. "That and a lot of bruising. There might be a hairline fracture in your jaw, Dean, but I don't see anything else. I am suspicious that you have some torn ligaments in your side with all that trauma. Just take it easy for while, huh?"

"Sure, George." Dean shrugged into his plaid shirt, buttoning it up. He slung the black t-shirt over his shoulder. Sam figured it took quite a bit of effort to pull that shirt on and Dean probably did not want spectators.

"Staying with your uncle again?" George asked, handing over a slip of white paper.

"Yep." Dean took the white paper, stared at it. "What's this for?"

"We don't tape or wrap ribs anymore. It's unnecessary and causes more pain. Now we just try to manage the pain while you heal. That's a fairly strong pain reliever." George stared at Dean. "I know you can be one stubborn bastard, but with that many cracked ribs you have to be in some serious pain. In a few days, after all that swelling goes down, come back in and we'll reassess your condition. Maybe I can put you on a lighter medication then."

Dean tried to hand the prescription back. "Do it now. It's not that bad."

Sam stepped forward, snatching the small white paper. "Forget it, Dean. Thanks, George, we'll get this filled downstairs." That reminded him. "Hey, George? Should Dean be using the stairs?"

George smiled at him. "Just so long as he takes it easy." George gave him a wink. "And yes, I realize just how stubborn your brother can be. There aren't many people around here who don't, Sam."

Dean chuckled, shaking George's hand. "Okay, see ya later, George. Beer-thirty?"

George shook his head. "Not while you're taking those. Maybe after we take you down a level. Until then, just take it easy, okay? Now get out of here. I have real sick people to see."

Sam's feet were light as he followed his brother out and downstairs. He noticed Dean took the stairs slower this time, but that did not bother him. Sam stuck to the center of the stairs, not willing to risk hanging on to another faulty railing. Just before he reached the ground floor, Sam felt the step give way under his foot.

"Dean!"

His arms windmilled crazily as Sam tried to catch himself on the next step, which collapsed as his other foot hit it. Panicked, Sam sat down, hoping that stair would hold his weight. His legs dangled freely as he gripped the steady stair, air darting in and out of his lungs at a rapid rate. Wide-eyed, Sam wondered if his brother was all right.

He looked down into Dean's too wide eyes. "Sammy?"

Sam peered down. The last two stairs were broken, split right down the center. Using one foot, Sam felt around experimentally until he found the floor. He stood slowly with Dean's help, brushing dust from the broken stairs off his jeans.

With one arm, Dean pulled him out of the ruins of the stairs. "What the hell happened?" Dean demanded. "You okay?"

Sam shook off Dean's hand, checked himself over. Everything seemed to be in order. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Dean kneeled down, studying the faulty stairs. "These are stone on metal, Sam. How the hell did they break like that?"

Sam peered over his brother's shoulder. "No idea. Pretty weird, huh?" he asked hopefully.

He heard Dean's breath catch as his brother stood. Sam grabbed Dean's right arm to finish pulling him upright. "Yeah," Dean said as he caught his breath, "pretty weird." Dean's tone implied his brother thought it was more than just weird.

Twenty minutes later Dean's new prescription pain meds jangled in his pocket as Sam crossed the parking lot. "Want me to drive?"

Dean scowled at him. "With everything breaking all around you? Bite your tongue, Sammy."

Sam chuckled as he slid into the passenger seat. "That was pretty weird though, wasn't it?"

Dean shot him a strong look after starting the car. "I've been thinking. It might be our kind of weird."

"What?" Sam's head snapped to the side. "You're not serious? Dean, we're taking a few days off."

Dean shook his head as he pulled out of the parking lot. "Not if something is after you, Sam."

---------------------

He could nearly hear Sam's eyes rolling in his brother's head. Dean wanted to sigh in frustration, but he did not think it would go over too well. Honestly, Sam's reaction to his observation about the strange things happening was not what he expected. Sam had been so gung-ho lately, he thought his brother would jump at the opportunity to do a little research.

There was no way he could drop this. All these things happening around Sam could not be just coincidence. He drove straight to Bobby's. If they stopped for lunch, he would be too tempted to order a beer and Sam would fuss at him. At least back at Bobby's he might be able to sneak one later this evening.

Dean pulled into Bobby's drive with a sense that there was something wrong. He scanned the rusting cars on the drive in with a critical eye.

"Dean? What's wrong?" Sam asked suddenly. Dean might have jumped, but fortunately his ribs prevented that.

"Just a feeling, Sam." Dean peered out ahead of them, slowing the car as they approached Bobby's house.

"Dean? You didn't leave the water running, did you?" Sam asked, his voice hard.

"No. Why?" Dean stopped the car. His eyes were drawn to the door, where water dripped down on the steps. "Oh, shit."

Sam raced ahead of him to the house. When the door was yanked open by his younger brother, water splashed out, soaking the front steps. Dean shut his eyes, imagining all the stacks of Bobby's books sitting in that water. Oh, this was bad. Really, really bad.

"Stay here," Sam ordered, charging into the house followed by the sound of splashing water.

Stay here? Was Sam kidding? Dean stepped carefully into the house. A quick walk-through confirmed his fears; the entire first floor was flooded. The water was not deep, not yet, but it was everywhere. He needed to decide how to save Bobby's books, and quickly. The bottom book on each stack had to be getting wetter by the moment.

Dean eyed the stairs. That appeared as good a solution as any. He grabbed the top books off the nearest stack and set them on the far right side of the bottom stair. Flames of pain etched his side, each rib complaining loudly as he picked up stacks of books and moved them to the stairs. Gritting his teeth, Dean attacked stack after stack, leaving only the water logged book at the bottom.

"Got it!" Sam called out triumphantly from the kitchen. He appeared a moment later holding up a wrench. "It was one of the pipes under the sink-What the hell are you doing?"

Dean leaned against the wall to catch his breath. "Trying to save…Bobby's books." He waved a hand at all the stacks.

"I'll do it, Dean. Go sit down," Sam said, glowering at him.

Dean shook his head. "Too much for one person, Sam." He took several shallow breaths. "You can help."

"Just a minute." Sam headed back into the kitchen. Now that he paused in his work, Dean did not feel a need to get right back to it. A short break seemed in order. Sam reappeared with a glass in one hand and his other hand a fist. "Here," Sam shoved the glass at Dean. Dean took it, seeing it was full of juice. Sam held out the fisted hand. Dean held his hand out palm up and Sam dropped two oval white pills into it. "At least take your pain pills."

Dean shrugged, throwing the pills back and chasing them with a gulp of juice. "I didn't know Bobby kept juice in the house."

"What about the wet books?" Sam asked, checking out Dean's work.

"I figured we'd save the dry ones first. Maybe Bobby has a hairdryer or something we can use." Dean replied with a shrug.

Sam's eyes went wide and the corners of his mouth turned up. "Did you really just say that Bobby might have a hairdryer?"

Dean chuckled. "Sorry, wasn't thinking. Well, maybe he has some fans?"

Sam nodded, rounding on the next stack of books. "That sounds more like him. We can set out the wet ones on the kitchen table and counter. I'll look for some fans after I finish helping you."

-------------------

Sam clenched his jaw to prevent the words tumbling in his brain from spilling out of his mouth. He noticed how pale his brother's face was and the beads of sweat lining Dean's forehead. Those dark smudges under Dean's eyes were still there, too. He really wanted Dean to go lie down and take it easy, but Dean was right. This cleaning job was an awful lot for just one person. So Sam tried to take the heavier books, though he noticed that his stubborn brother just picked up more books when they were lighter.

Sam took the job of collecting the wet books from the floor while Dean searched for a mop. He figured that had to be easier on Dean's side than bending down constantly. As Sam set out the books on the kitchen counter and table, Dean started mopping out the water. Sam searched for some fans to dry out Bobby's books. He didn't think Bobby would be really upset with them, but he knew how much stock Bobby put in his books.

He found the fans in Bobby's outside shed. Well, they were large air-movers, designed to keep you cooler while you worked outside, but Sam figured it would be perfect. He set up two large fans in the kitchen to blow right over all the books. Then Sam flipped the books open, hoping as they dried the pages would start turning.

"Think that'll work?" Dean asked from over his shoulder.

Sam was so used to Dean just appearing like that, he did not even flinch. "No idea, but we have to try something." He looked back at his brother. Dean's face was more relaxed now and had some color to it. "Pills working?"

Dean shrugged. "Felt fine before."

Sam nodded, barely resisting rolling his eyes. "Yeah, right." He felt like pressing the issue, but he didn't. After a few minutes, Sam decided that was the right decision. Dean acted like he didn't say anything and turned attention to the books. Forcing Dean to talk never seemed to work out, it just led to arguments.

Sam helped his brother flip pages open, exposing wet paper to the air blowing through the room. They worked in silence, just walking around and around the kitchen tending to the water-logged volumes.

"You know what I keep thinking of?" Dean asked suddenly, drawing Sam's mind from the monotonous task.

"What?" Honestly, he could not begin to guess what might be going through his brother's mind.

"Remember that time you flooded the bathroom? And all of Dad's stuff got wet?" Dean laughed, like it was a good memory.

"Dean," Sam groused with a snarl, "Dad must have yelled at both of us for three days straight."

Dean shook his head. "No, you're thinking of the motel you tried to set on fire messing with the stove and I nearly shot a fireman for trying to come in. I'm talking about the time you convinced me to let you run your own bath and you never turned off the water. You were about six?"

Sam paused, staring at his brother. "I don't remember that."

Dean grinned. "When Dad came back, he found all of his clothes laying out all over everything." He started to laugh again. "At first he thought we were playing or something. Then he realized his clothes were still damp." Dean let out a loud chuckle. "I don't think I'd ever seen him embarrassed before."

"Embarassed?" Sam asked, studying his brother's face. "Why would Dad be embarrassed?"

A broad grin covered Dean's face. "Because of where we put his underwear. You thought it would dry better if it was up high." Dean laughed again. "So I hung it on the ceiling fan blades. When Dad flipped on the switch, the fan came on and…" Dean flung his arms wide, "Bam!"

Sam laughed. "Oh, I wish I could remember that one."

"Yeah." Dean's smile faded. "Me, too."

Startled by the sudden change in his brother, Sam stepped closer. "What do you mean, Dean?"

Dean shrugged. "You just don't seem to remember the good stuff, Sammy. That's all." Dean looked away, concentrating on the books again.

Dean's comment hit Sam like a slap across the face. Is that how Dean thought of him? Is that how he appeared? Sam raked a hand through his hair. Dean was the only family he had left and Sam did not want his brother to be disappointed in him. His family might be screwed up, but they were still family and loved each other. He really did miss Dad so he would just have to try harder to remember the good things, and he resolved to do just that.


	7. Chapter 7

Hurray! **_Hotshow _**is back from vacation - now we can get rocking and rolling on this fic!! Thanks to everyone following and here's a promise to keep future chapters at a _minimum _of 1 per week, hopefully we'll be able to up that to at least 2!!

**Chapter 7**

Dean paused over one of Bobby's books. The words 'mysterious sabotage' leapt out at him, thrusting all thoughts of Dad and Sam from his mind. He scanned the entry. It talked about gremlins, suspected of hitching rides on World War Two planes and fighters. Those creatures seemed to prefer larger things to sabotage, but there were pages describing other supernatural creatures that enjoyed pranks, right up to the deadly variety. He figured the stairs qualified as a muffed deadly prank. Even though that was his brother falling on his ass, Dean had been tempted to laugh at the sight of his sasquatch-sized little brother desperately trying to regain balance as the stairs crumbled away.

There were a number of creatures that could be responsible. Dean pulled up a chair so he would not have to lean over the book. The wet pages were difficult to read as Dean gently lifted them up and let the fan blow over them. Although the gremlin was tempting, Dean had to admit that the entries about leprechauns and imps looked the most promising. He ignored all the stuff about fairies, because, come on! Honestly! A fairy? Please god, let it be an imp. Besides, he noticed that fairies rarely played deadly pranks and this thing went straight from misplaced toothbrush to collapsing stairs.

"Sam? That pot you broke? Would you say it looked Irish?" Dean asked, not looking up from the water-logged page.

"Irish?" He heard Sam's throat clear. "Uh, no, I doubt it. It was a pretty rudimentary clay pot. And I didn't notice any symbols on it."

"Then we're probably dealing with an imp." He pointed out the passage about imps.

Sam came around to lean over his shoulder. "Imps, fairy-like creatures who like to create mischief that can escalate into deadly pranks. Can be tricked into doing good deeds, especially if the imp in question is desperately lonely." Sam nudged his shoulder. "You're not serious?"

Dean nodded slowly, turning recent events over in his mind. "And it seems to be focusing on you, Sam. The only thing I can think of that you've done recently is break that pot."

"You think I…I broke its home?" Sam asked, voice betraying the fact he thought Dean was really reaching this time.

"That or its prison." Dean turned his head to look up at his brother. "It might have been tricked into that pot."

Sam frowned at him. "I don't know, Dean. You may be reaching this time."

"This time, huh?" Dean cleared his throat, remembering how Sam refused to listen to him about the zombie. "Just this time?" He shot an accusing look at his brother.

Sam's head ducked, as though Dean were shooting lasers out of his eyes. Sam shrugged. "We can always look into it. Does it say anything there about how to see if you have an imp infestation?"

Dean cocked an eyebrow at his little brother. "Oh, been saving that one, huh?"

Sam grinned. "Nope. Just saw an opportunity and took it."

Dean shrugged, looking back at the book. "It doesn't say. Maybe one of the other books here does. Start looking." He waved at the books on the counter.

As Sam moved off to check the other books, Dean slid wet volumes around on the table. He decided it was pretty clever to suggest Sam start with the ones on the counter, saving the easy to read ones for himself. After that flight through the cemetery, Dean figured he deserved a little break.

------------

Sam nearly bit Dean's head off when his brother waved him away, but he realized that by taking it Dean would stay seated at the table. Sam glanced through Bobby's books, actually paying attention to the subjects now. Amazing how much literature Bobby collected on possession and demons. Sam mentally marked a few to read through later, when they were dry. As he read through an entry on woodland sprites, Sam shuddered with realization; Dean gave him an order.

Glancing at his brother, Sam turned their conversation over in his head. Yes, Dean definitely gave an order when he told Sam to 'start looking.' Sam smiled to himself, pretending to be absorbed in a latin volume about werewolves. And to think, his initial reaction had been to yell back? Wasn't this exactly what he had been waiting for? That confirmed his worst fears about Dean's new submissive attitude: it was his fault.

Sam sighed into the fan, hearing the muted, staccato echo of his voice. It reminded him too much of their lives, constant motion by punctuated bursts of activity. Sam paused in his task, staring at the wall to gather his thoughts. Had Dean done anything to deserve the kind of treatment Sam had been dishing out lately? He hounded, nagged, argued, demanded and ignored. And what did Dean do? What his brother always did, he took it. That stoic silent endurance Dean always had with Dad finally made its way into their relationship, too. Fingers tapping softly on the side of one of the box fans, Sam stared through the flickering blades. If he concentrated on just the wall and not the blades, he could see it as though there were no obstructions. That was Dean, hiding behind protective flash and constant movement.

Why did Sam act this way? Because Dean, yet again, obeyed an order from Dad? Or was it really because by Dean keeping that secret, his brother acted like Dad? Sam chewed it over in his mind. Was he really reacting to Dean the same way he reacted to Dad? Sam ran a hand through his hair, wondering why he did that. It definitely started with learning what Dad told Dean right before Dad died, but did Dean really deserve this treatment for just being Dean? Though he hated to admit it, Sam knew now after being on the road with his brother for about a year and a half that Dean was just being Dean. Dean could no more help obeying their father's last request than breathe, and even then Dean had been unable to keep it to himself forever. He should be glad his brother got over that blind loyalty and told him, even if it did take a few months.

Actually, now that he bothered to really think about it, the fact Dean withholding something like that from him made his brother erratic should be comforting. It meant Dean, unlike Dad, wanted to keep things between them open and honest, none of that 'need to know' crap. He ought to feel appreciative that Dean managed to work through his own psychological crap about Dad, but the truth was Sam felt a little bitter about it. He wanted Dean to come to him, talk it through together. After all they were brothers, they should act like it.

"Sam?" Dean's voice sounded distorted and distant coming through two fans. It was enough to snap Sam's head to the side and cause a flutter of panic that something might be wrong.

"What Dean?" He hoped his voice came out normal.

"You okay?" Dean stood, a slight wince coming over his brother's face. "You look like you might have a headache or something."

Sam bit back the smart-ass retort springing unbidden from someplace deep and dark. "Uh, yeah. I think I feel one coming on."

"Go take some aspirin," Dean's head jerked toward Bobby's kitchen cabinets. He checked his watch. "No wonder, it's way after lunchtime. You probably just need something to eat." He turned around to open the fridge.

Sam froze, unsure what his brother wanted him to do and unwilling to push or antagonize Dean any more. "So should I still take the aspirin?"

He watched Dean's head give a slight shake as his brother peered into the fridge. "Yes, Sam." It was that patient voice Dean used when they were kids. "Then sit down at the table. I think I see some sandwich stuff in here."

Sam did as Dean asked, mainly because Dean wanted him to. Was he finally getting Big Brother back? Maybe, if he could learn to keep his big mouth shut.

If he had not seen all the damage to Dean's side, it would be hard to believe right now. Dean moved smoothly and with a natural grace that was deceptive. Sam looked for signs of pain or discomfort, knowing how bad Dean's side was, but he saw nothing. Dean looked like he always did. His brother was definitely not normal. What a screwed up life they had if Dean acted like nothing was wrong when he really looked like he went ten rounds with a cement block – and lost. Scratch that – it must have been a marble block.

"Sam!" Sam blinked hard. Did Dean say something? "I asked if you wanted cheese."

"Uh, why don't you just set the stuff out here on the table and we can each make our own?" Sam picked up some of Bobby's water logged books and moved them to the counter. By the time he cleared most of the table, Dean had plenty of sandwich making stuff out. Bobby definitely went shopping before they arrived. Funny that Bobby would go to all that trouble for them to stay just a couple of days. Well, sure, it looked like they might be here longer now, but there was no way for Bobby to know that before they arrived. Was there?

Sam eyed his brother suspiciously. Part of him still wondered, well, maybe hoped, that Dean set this whole thing up. Bobby did not sound too confident about this hunt, and that was not like Bobby. The man researched everything to death, no pun intended. Dean called Sam a walking encyclopedia of weird, but Bobby was an encyclopedia of the supernatural.

A mouthful of sandwich, Sam looked up to ask Dean point-blank if he organized this. Dean's eyes bulged, riveted to the wall behind Sam. Sam raised his eyebrows in question. With an almost imperceptible nod, Dean told Sam to look behind him. Sam turned slowly. Through the kitchen window, Sam saw what must be a face. It was dark, covered in thick, matted fur. Twin dark eyes glared out through the nasty tangles, so filthy Sam had no idea what color the fur might actually be. A hole opened toward the bottom of the head, revealing a row of even pointed white teeth, the kind panthers or leopards had. A chill raced down Sam's spine as the dark eyes glittered with malice and the beautiful white teeth gnashed in that deep, dark mouth.

"Gremlin," Dean breathed.

Sam sighed, swallowing what was left in his mouth. "Just our luck."

In a blur of motion, the gremlin disappeared from sight. Dean made to race out the door after it, but Sam blocked him. "Easy Dean," Sam warned, mind racing for a way to keep his brother from being hurt even worse. "Knowing Bobby, there are plenty of protection wards on his house. It can't get in."

Dean glared at him. "Then how do you explain the water? Your toothbrush?"

Sam frowned. Both were excellent points. "I don't know."

Dean's eyes stabbed. "That's what I thought."

"We need to call Bobby," Sam insisted. "If he does have the protection wards I think he has, then the gremlin really can't get in and we're dealing with something else."

Dean's face fell. "A gremlin and an imp?" One hand scrubbed over his face. "I hate my life."

"Dean!" Sam shouted, his heart seizing in his chest. _'Don't say that, whatever you do, don't say that.'_

Dean rolled his eyes at Sam, shoving him aside. "I'm going to check outside." Sam stayed close on Dean's heels. Nothing else was hurting his brother, not today.

The air was crisp and fresh, at odds with their rusting surroundings. Sam's eyes darted all around, searching for signs of trouble. Strong fingers dug into his arm. Sam followed his brother's pointing finger with his eyes. There, around the kitchen window, were gashes in the siding: Two sets of four gashes above the window and two sets of five gashes below. There was no sign of the nasty furred creature anywhere.

"It left?" Sam asked, hoping against hope it could be true.

"Not with our luck," Dean muttered darkly.

Sam grabbed his brother's shoulder and propelled him back toward the house. "Then we'll just have to call Bobby. Maybe he lucked out and finished his hunt early."

-------------------

Dean started to protest until he realized Sam must not remember that Bobby said the hunt was a day's drive away. He clamped his mouth shut. As much as he hated to admit it, in his current condition he might not be able to move fast enough to protect his little brother. If Bobby were here he might worry a little less. Maybe.

"Bobby has a cell phone?" Dean asked. "When did he move into the twentieth century?"

"It's the twentyfirst century now, Dean," Sam said as the door slammed behind them.

"I know, Sam," Dean said with a smirk. He watched as comprehension dawned on his brother's face.

"Oh." A grin flickered across Sam's features. "Good point." Sam's shaggy brown mop nodded in agreement. "Well, he left a number, I just assumed it was his cell. Let's go find out."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

An odd noise caught Bobby's attention. It went off twice more before he realized it came from his glove compartment. His glove compartment door slammed open violently as the front right wheel of the pickup bounced off the road. With a string of curses, Bobby swerved back over the solid white line. His new cell phone bounced down into the floorboard, clattering hollowly.

He tried to steer with one hand while groping for the ringing cell with the other, but this situation was new to him. Why did people carry these damn things around anyway? The phone went silent as a new set of worries sprung to mind. He asked Sam to call when they found out the extent of Dean's injuries. As the phone started ringing again, Bobby figured it must be bad news for Sam to be this insistent. He slowed down to pull off the road, bouncing along glad he was in a truck and not Dean's brand of Chevy.

As he slowed to a fairly quick stop, the cell phone stopped ringing again. Bobby shoved the gear into park before diving down for his stupid phone. Things were so much easier back in the days where you actually had to be someplace in order to receive a call. None of this running off the road crap. How many times had he talked to Dean and heard road noise in the background? But then those boys pretty much lived out of that car, so maybe it was not a fair comparison.

As Bobby snatched the phone from the floor of his truck, it went off again. Really worried now, Bobby thumbed the button to accept the call and pressed it to his ear. "What is it, Sam? What's wrong?"

There was a pause before Dean's voice answered, "Bobby, we may have a situation here."

Bobby frowned at his dash. "What kind of situation, Dean?"

In the background he heard Sam's voice shout, "Dean! What are you doing outside?" Then Dean's responding shout of "Get back in the house, Sam!"

"Sam, look out!" The all too distinct sound of Dean's cell being dropped followed the panicked cry. There were muffled grunts, the noise of something heavy landing, and a shout of pain. Unable to do anything else, Bobby pressed the phone harder against his ear, straining for the slightest sound. Weren't they still at his house? Did he underestimate Sam's desire for hunting?

"Okay," Dean's voice was faint and muffled, like the phone landed right-side down in the dirt, "when I lift you pull your legs out. Sam! You hear me?" A groan answered Dean's demand. "On three. One. Two. Three!" There were the sounds of movement and then something big hitting the ground.

"Sammy? You all right?"

"Dean, you…" several deep breaths, "you shouldn't have done that. Your ribs."

His ribs? Well, Bobby figured there had to be something seriously wrong with the boy's side.

"Come on, Sam. Let's get you inside." Muffled sounds of movement, then swearing. "Shit, my phone!"

"Bobby? You still there?" Dean sounded winded.

"What the hell is going on, Dean?" he asked, his heart thudding against his ribcage.

"Something is after Sam. We're not sure if it's a gremlin or an imp, or both."

"Where, Dean?" Bobby demanded. "Where are you?"

"Your place." Dean sounded puzzled, as though it never occurred to him to leave.

Bobby's blood ran cold in his veins. His house? Those boys had something after them at his house? "I'm heading your way, Dean. Is Sam all right?" Bobby checked the road; it was clear in both directions. Cradling the phone between his jaw and shoulder, Bobby pulled onto the road back toward home. It was distinctly uncomfortable, but much better than wasting any more time. He was already a good eight hours away and could not be back home until well after dark; not the best time to arrive.

"I think so," Dean grunted. "After I get him back inside I can check him out. Hang on."

Bobby drove along for a minute or two in strained silence, his ear pressed against the phone listening for any sound. There were enough muffled grunts, footsteps and the slamming of a door to convince him that they were still connected. When his neck started to complain, Bobby drove with one hand to use the other to hold his phone. There was more to this driving and talking business than he thought. Now those women who put on makeup while driving really, really scared him.

"Hey, Bobby?" Sam asked, winded.

"Sam! What happened?" Yeah, okay, maybe he sounded panicked. So what? With a phone call like this, who wouldn't?

"Uh, well, I think we owe you some house siding," Sam said.

Now what the hell kind of answer was that? "Sam, you mind explaining that?"

"Some of the siding just fell off the house," Sam replied.

"And on you! You planning to tell him that part?" Dean's voice demanded in the background.

"Dean!" Sam hissed.

"Where did it get you, Sam?" Bobby asked, trying to maintain some composure.

"Just knocked the wind out of me, Bobby," Sam said, his voice insistent. "We're fine."

"What was that about Dean's ribs?" Bobby asked.

"Oh. That. You were right, he has several cracked ribs and maybe some torn muscles. It's still too swollen to know for sure." Sam's voice took on an accusatory tone.

"So where did the siding hit you, Sam?" Bobby was determined to understand more of the situation before he made it back. "I could hear that Dean needed to lift it off you."

Sam blew out a loud huff. "It knocked me to the ground and had me pinned. That's all, Bobby, I swear." Bobby figured the emphasis Sam used was for Dean's benefit, not his.

"Why does Dean think you're dealing with a gremlin or an imp?" Bobby asked, eyes scanning ahead.

A half laugh interrupted by a grunt came through the phone. "Oh, he thinks an imp was imprisoned in that pot I broke and a little while ago we saw a face at the kitchen window he's convinced is a gremlin."

Bobby winced at the mention of the clay pot. He had suspected there was something more to it than just a pot, but he never got around to actually opening it himself. When Sam broke it and nothing happened right away, Bobby figured his fears must have been unfounded. Well, he knew how to spell "assume" just as well as the next guy didn't he? And yes, that made him an "ass." The only thing that prevented him from slamming his head against the steering wheel was the fact he would probably crash his truck.

"What did the face look like?" he asked, pressing harder on the accelerator.

"Furry, dirty, black eyes, sharp white teeth. Ring any bells?"

Bobby ground his teeth in frustration. "Gremlin. Oh, I hate those things."

"Well, I'm not too fond of them at the moment either." Sam agreed.

"And fugly," Dean's voice chimed in. "Don't forget that."

"Put the beer up, Dean. You heard what George said!" Sam snapped. "Hey Bobby, I need to go now. We'll call if we need you."

"Wait, Sam!" Bobby shouted as his phone went silent. "Sam!" He glared at the irritating phone in his hand. Throwing it aside, he muttered, "Useless contraptions," as he pressed the accelerator all the way to the floor.

-------------------

Sam tried to stand, but pain lanced through his calves forcing him to plummet back into his chair.

"Easy there, Sammy," Dean chided, lifting the open beer bottle in salute. "Don't think you're quite ready for any marathons yet."

"Damn it, Dean!" Sam slammed his open hand on the table, narrowly missing one of Bobby's drying books. "You heard George. No beer!"

Dean grinned that irritating, lop-sided grin. "Make me," he taunted, eyebrows bobbing on his forehead as his brother danced backward a few steps.

Sam stared down his brother, mind racing for the right argument to make Dean put that beer away. As the idea formed in his mind, he had to repress the smile threatening to emerge. "Okay. Fine. So you're going to drink that beer, let the alcohol combine with those strong pain killers you're on and knock you out. That's good. You'll get a good night's sleep and I'll just stand guard."

Dean's hand paused, the beer halfway to his mouth. "What are you talking about?"

Sam had to press his lips together. He was halfway there. He cleared his throat before continuing. "Actually, now that I think about it, it's probably a good idea. You need rest for your side anyway. Yeah, go ahead and have that beer. Maybe should have two." Sam shrugged. "Or whatever you can drink before you go unconscious."

Sam stood slowly, using the table for leverage as the pain in his lower legs shot upward like lightning. He closed his eyes against the pain, willing it away. It did not work completely, but it was bearable when he opened his eyes again. Dean stood in the doorway, his face blank.

"I've had enough," the nearly full bottle of beer thunked as it hit the bottom of the trash can, sloshing beer against the sides. "Come on." Dean grabbed one of Sam's arms, pulling it across his shoulders.

"Where are we going?" Sam asked, limping along. He did not want to put any weight on his injured brother, but he found quickly that he had no choice.

"You need to put your feet up and get some ice packs on your calves before they get so swollen you can't put your jeans on," Dean replied calmly. Sam smiled to himself. As usual, he won.

"Quit smiling," Dean snapped. "I wasn't going to drink it anyway."

Sam glanced down, but Dean was not looking at him.

"I was just messing with you."

Sam's grin broadened. "Waste of a perfectly good beer, Dean."

He felt rather than heard Dean's chuckle. "Guess I should've given it to you, huh?" Dean guided him to Bobby's sofa. His brother disappeared into the kitchen as Sam tried to settle himself on the sofa, with his feet propped up on the far side. The problem was, his legs were a little too long to do that comfortably and the spot where the siding hit him kept sliding onto the arm of the sofa.

"Here," a hand appeared in front of his face. Sam leaned back and Dean dropped two white pills in his open palm. A cold bottle of water found its way into his other hand. "Take those," Dean instructed, sinking into the easy chair opposite him.

Sam swallowed the pills with a gulp of water. "Thanks, but it's really not that bad."

Dean snorted. "Dude, that's my line. Get your own." Sam watched his brother eyeing the sofa. "Back in a minute." Dean jumped up. Sam heard his brother's boots stamping up the stairs. The sound of the boots coming down were a little slower, but still distinctive. Not like there would be anyone else here. The next thing he knew, Dean was lifting up one of his legs and shoving a pillow underneath.

"Thanks," Sam grinned, the pain subsiding. "Man, how fast do those pills work anyway?" Eyelids heavy, he decided to close his eyes just for a second. Okay, maybe a minute.

--------------

Dean watched his little brother doze off. Finally. He hoped Sam would be able to sleep until Bobby arrived. In the meantime, Dean checked his shotgun. It was loaded with consecrated iron shot. He did not know if iron worked against gremlins or imps, but he had to do something.

He kept watch over his brother, waiting for Bobby to arrive. Sam always accused him of having no patience, but what would Sam think if he looked up now, Dean wondered. Here he sat, holding his shotgun and waiting patiently for Bobby while images of stupid imps and nasty gremlins filtered through his mind. What did a freaking imp look like, anyway?


	9. Chapter 9

Many thanks to everyone following this. Sorry for the delay, but I needed to do some planning for the rest of the story. I think we're on track now, thanks to the fact my wonderful editor _**hotshow**_ is back!! (She has also been pushing me to finish this chapter so it could post.)

**Chapter 9**

Now why had they seen a gremlin but not the imp? Dean was convinced that they were dealing with two nasties, one was just a whole helluva lot nastier than the other. As he watched his brother sleep, a stray thought crossed Dean's mind. He focused on it and it grew, changing and morphing into a full blown idea. When the idea grew into a plan, he grinned at the setting sun. It was almost time to wake up Sam.

First, Dean rummaged through Bobby's kitchen cabinets. That was a chore with all the books still laying out drying and the fans going. Much to his surprise and relief, there was flour right next to a couple of bags of salt. He took the thankfully dry bag of flour and laid out a few white lines in the doorways and around Sam's couch. He took up his previous position, checking his shotgun.

With a scowl, Dean noticed there was something wrong. Checking his shotgun shells, he discovered that the iron shot had fused into solid irregular lumps and the gunpowder had been replaced by – what the hell was that? Tar? He touched the sticky stuff, making a nasty face. Great, no more leaving weapons unattended. Ever. Dean pulled the weapons bag close to get to his cleaning supplies. What was keeping Bobby?

---------------

As the sun sunk lower in the sky, Bobby found his vision blurring. He had been on the road since early this morning and knew he really should pull over and catch a few winks before driving on through to the house. As he looked for a likely spot, movement in the rearview mirror caught his attention. Bobby looked up to see a flash of grimy fur and white teeth.

Clutching the steering wheel, he spun as far as he could in his seat to look out the back window of his pickup. Nothing. He hoped it was a trick of the light, his mind slipping into a light dreamstate while he was driving. When he heard the clunk below his feet, Bobby was pretty sure it was no trick. He had a damned gremlin on his truck!

He drove off the road, slamming on the brakes and skidding to a stop. Bobby jumped out, grabbing his shotgun off the gun rack. His boots crunched on the roadside gravel as he slowly circled his truck. The engine was still running so listening for the critter was useless. He circled back around to the driver's side door which was still standing open. Only a handful of hunters lived as long as he did for one reason and one reason alone, they were painfully paranoid. Clutching his shotgun, Bobby peered under the truck. Still nothing.

He straightened, scratching his jaw. Did he really see something or was it his eyes playing tricks? Bobby, being the stubborn paranoid bastard he was, chose to think he really saw something. He circled his truck again, eyes peering in the dimming light for any sign of a gremlin. As he rounded the front passenger tire, it looked low. Grimacing, Bobby knelt down to check it. Air hissed from a fresh puncture, a slash across the sidewall.

"Bastard," he mumbled, "road hazard won't cover that."

Man, he hated gremlins. He heard that annoying sound of his cell going off and figured it was either Dean or Sam wondering where the hell he was. Bobby ignored it, hoping the sound might draw out the gremlin. He waited, crouched down and shotgun at the ready. His knees began to complain when he heard the sickening crack from the underside of his truck. Falling to his stomach and aiming the shotgun at the undercarriage, Bobby fully expected to find the gremlin ripping something apart. Instead, the sight that met his eyes caused his stomach to twist.

Huge slashes allowed transmission fluid to stream to the ground. The rear axle was in shambles and one rear wheel began to tilt at an angle.

"I really hate gremlins," he said, listening to his cell go off again.

----------------

"Come on, Bobby," Dean muttered, ramming the cleaning rod through his shotgun again. Each time he did it, he found more of that tar-like stuff. It wasn't tar exactly, but he'd be damned if he used the shotgun with that stuff in the barrel, which just might be the idea. The automated message about this cell phone user not answering kicked on again. Dean pressed the button again, growing more worried by the minute. He continued to clean the shotgun as he listened to Bobby not picking up.

"Dean?" Sam stirred on the couch. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to call Bobby," Dean snapped, his patience thin.

Sam rubbed his eyes, which looked a bit red for Dean's liking. "I meant why are you cleaning the shotgun?"

Dean scowled. "Imp."

"What?" Dean started at the voice in his ear.

"Bobby!" He nearly dropped the shotgun in his relief. "Why the hell didn't you answer your phone?"

"Seen that gremlin lately?" Bobby demanded.

Dean eyed his brother, who was sitting up and massaging his calves. "It pulled a disappearing act after pulling half the siding off your house to drop on Sam."

"That's because it was here," Bobby said, and he did not sound happy. "My truck may be totaled."

"Where, Bobby? We'll come get you." Dean was on his feet mentally cataloguing the things they would need for the trip.

"Don't even think it, Dean!" Bobby snapped through the phone. Dean could picture his friend's face, blazing with anger. "You and Sam stay at the house. You're more protected there. If you come after me, all you'll do is strand all of us in the middle of nowhere without protection."

"But Bobby," Dean tried to protest.

"No, Dean. I have some friends out this way who can give me a tow. Once I know how bad the damage is, I'll call you. In the meantime, stay in the house. The gremlin can't come inside."

He did not like that answer at all. "So what's getting inside?" he asked.

"It's probably an imp that was sealed in the pot Sam broke," Bobby replied, sounding a bit weary. "I should have done something with the damn pot before then, it's my fault. Listen, Dean, the only way to b--- an imp ---- trick --- a con----."

"What Bobby? I didn't catch all that. Bobby?" Even the static was gone now. Dean checked his phone. The battery was dead. He charged it just this morning. Holding it up to show Sam, Dean said, "This imp is starting to piss me off."

Sam's face darkened. "What's up with Bobby?"

"The gremlin paid him a visit in the truck." Sam's face shifted into worried-shock and Dean held up a hand. "He's fine. It'll just take him longer to get here." He tried to grin for Sam's sake.

"Aren't we going to get him?" Sam asked, his surprise clear.

"No," Dean shook his head. "He said we'll just be better targets that way. Bobby wants us to stay here and deal with the imp. He tried to tell me what to do, but the phone cut out." He hefted the useless cell in his hand, debating on whether to put it on to charge or slam it into the nearest wall. Economy winning out, Dean headed upstairs to plug in his phone after making a quick check of the flour line around Sam. It was undisturbed. "Back in a sec."

He raced upstairs, unwilling to leave Sam alone for any length of time. There was no telling what that imp might try to do while he was gone. Dean had noticed that the imp never did anything while he was around and hoped for that trend to continue. At least he could keep Sam safe until they figured out what to do. As he raced back downstairs, his ribs made themselves known, rather loudly. Checking his watch, Dean realized it was past time for his pain meds. Not wanting to alert Sam to the fact, he decided to play it off as overdoing it on the stairs.

He breathed heavily as his feet hit the ground floor, not that he had any choice in the matter. "Dean?" Sam peered over the back of the sofa, brows drawn together. "You all right?"

Dean nodded, unable to speak at the moment. He resisted clutching at his side, knowing it would do no good anyway and just worry Sam.

------------------

Dean was pale, sweaty and completely out of breath when he came back downstairs. Sam frowned at the sight. This clearly did not constitute 'taking it easy.' Wondering how to suggest his big brother sit down for a few minutes at least, Sam noticed Dean studying the floor. He looked down to find what he thought was a ring of salt around the couch where he just took a nap.

Sam tried standing and the pain was tolerable now. He suspected he would just have a couple of nasty bruises by morning. You know, assuming they managed to live that long. "What are you looking at?" he asked, leaning over the back of the couch to watch Dean.

His brother pointed to a section of that white line. Tiny footprints appeared in the white powder and little white footprints walked inside the circle to just below where Sam's head had been while he slept. With mounting trepidation, Sam lifted the small throw cushion he used for a pillow. It felt strange. Upon examination, Sam discovered his pillow was now filled with jello. He figured if he laid his head on it again, it would create a mess worthy of his big brother.

"Nice," he said, gently holding out the cushion. Dean took it carefully, as though it might explode. Sam wondered why Dean was cleaning the shotgun earlier, maybe something similar happened with it?

"Well, at least it has some style," Dean quipped with a smirk. "Should I pop this in the fridge for later?"

"If you're looking for food poisoning, sounds like a great idea." Sam glared at Dean.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Yeah, like I was serious." He walked over to the front door and quickly tossed it outside. "Sam, I've been thinking. We should try to make friends with this imp."

Sam's jaw dropped. "Are you serious?" Dean nodded, but he held eye contact. Sam got it, his brother had a plan. He hoped it was a good one. "And how to you think we should do that?"

Dean looked thoughtful. "Let's invite it to dinner."

"Dinner?" Sam seriously wondered about his brother sometimes. "And how do we invite it?"

Dean shrugged. "I figure if we set out dinner, it'll show up. Especially since I plan on setting a place for it."

Sam moved to follow his brother into Bobby's kitchen. Sometimes Dean got the strangest ideas. As he passed the white line around the sofa, Sam bent to examine it. "Flour?" He ran a hand over his face. Dean really had some odd ideas sometimes.

True to his word, Dean set out an extra hot dog for the imp. Sam sat in one of Bobby's kitchen chairs, the vinyl seat sticking to his thighs since Dean insisted he wear shorts. Something about his legs could swell to the point of busting the seams on his jeans? The way Dean said it, it sounded like the voice of experience. Sam chose not to ask about it. He decided that was one of those things he did not want to know.

Sam practically inhaled his three hotdogs. Who knew getting a few bruises could make you so hungry? Well, in retrospect, it certainly explained Dean's normally ravenous appetite. Sam made a mental note to add that to his list of 'things that may mean Dean is hurt.'

Polishing off a fourth hotdog, his brother cleared his throat, nodding at the third plate. It was untouched. "So much for that idea."

"What made you think it would come anyway?" Sam asked, clearing their dishes.

"The book," Dean replied, setting out the books again to finish drying. "It said imps could be tricked into doing good deeds if they were lonely. I figure, since there's no way to kill them, they must all be lonely."

Sam stopped dead in his tracks. "How does an inability to die equal lonely?" he asked as a follow-up thought struck him. "Other than the whole being encased in pots thing?"

Dean stared at him, as though the answer were so obvious every kindergartner would know it. "Unless they only make friends with other imps, and they don't seem to hang out together, all their friends die. That's a lonely life, dude."

The images of the few people Dean had befriended, either dead or left behind in a town somewhere, flashed through Sam's mind. "Oh." Honestly, he never thought about it like that. He did the normal college thing and knew he could settle down and make friends any time he wanted. Okay, it might have to be under another name, but he could still do it. Could Dean?

"I think these books are about dry," Dean's voice interrupted his thoughts. Sam turned, finding himself standing next to his brother evaluating the condition of Bobby's books.

"I don't suppose you had a chance to tell him about the flood?" Sam asked.

"Not exactly," Dean replied. His brother gave him a worried look. "You don't think he'll be too upset, do you? I mean, we already owe him siding for half the house."

Sam shook his head. "It wasn't our fault, Dean. Bobby knows that."

"Yeah, it's just that…" Dean stared out the kitchen door into the den, his jaw slack.

Sam spun around, expecting to see a nasty, grungy gremlin standing there. Instead, there was a collection of objects on the wall he knew was blank earlier. Dean brushed past toward it, Sam close on his heels. On the wall was a collection of child-like fingerpaintings, which Sam suspected he did. He hoped it was from when he really was a kid and not from his freaky amnesia. When did he start thinking like Dean? Regressive amnesia, Sam, regressive – not freaky. Even though it was. Freaky, that is.

Right there, in the center. What was that? Sam reached out and picked it up. It was a Batman action figure and the eyes had been sloppily painted over in green. Great. It was probably all from the freaky – regressive amnesia. There was something about the Batman that made him feel just a little bit better.

"Dean? Why did I have a Batman? You know, with the amnesia thing?" Sam asked.

Dean shrugged. "You wanted a toy. Threw a hissy fit in the toy department. Buying it was the only way I could shut you up."

Sam nodded slowly. "Talked you into it, huh? Let's see, Batman is the only superhero who has no superpowers, unless you count more money than god. So was it something along the lines of Batman reminding me of you and Dad?" By the innocent look on his brother's face, Sam knew he was right. He grinned, holding it up. "So why does Bobby still have it, anyway?"

"More importantly, what's all this stuff doing here?" Dean asked. It was the last thing Sam heard before a huge crack and the world shattered into darkness.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

The bone-snapping crack resounded in Dean's ears, sending ice shivers down his spine as he jumped. Turning in midair, Dean spun to face his brother. Sam's eyes rolled back in his head as Sasquatch sank toward the floor. Dean rushed forward, catching his brother before he could hit the floor. The kid had to eat three hotdogs at dinner, didn't he?

Dean struggled under Sam's weight, muscling him toward the couch. By the time they arrived, Dean figured they could both use medical attention. Gasping with the exertion and the flaming pain in his side, Dean dropped his little brother onto the sofa. He pulled the pill bottle from his pocket and popped his next pain pill dry, two hours early. 

Knowing if he sat down he would not be getting back up any time soon, Dean investigated the source of the bone-cracking sound. In the middle of the floor was a chunk of two-by-four lumber. Where the hell did that wood come from? The pain gone from his mind, Dean stooped down to pick it up. When he turned it over in his hands, one edge was coated in slick red. His stomach flipping over, Dean ran a thumb over that edge. It was wet and fresh and still warm. It was Sam's blood. The freaking imp set a trap, and they walked right into it.

Wasting no time, Dean ran full out up the stairs, grabbed two washcloths and soaked one before racing back down. Not knowing or caring how his cracked ribs felt, Dean rolled Sam gently to one side to inspect the back of his skull. A nasty gash was there, blood pouring onto Bobby's furniture. Head wounds always bled a lot, but that never eased his mind when the bleeder was his brother. He pressed the wet washcloth to the wound, trying to staunch the flow. As it turned red, Dean realized he would need a way to rinse it. Dry washcloth in its place, he rushed to the kitchen, flinging open all the cabinets until he spied a large bowl. He grabbed it and filled it with cold water. 

Having to walk now instead of run, he returned to his brother's side with the bowl. He rinsed out the washcloth and pressed it back against Sam's wound. Should he try stitching it up himself or get Sam to a doctor? And could he get Sam past the gremlin to a doctor? As their odds of them and his car getting past a gremlin to the hospital in one piece ran through his mind, his cell went off upstairs. Oh, great. Perfect timing. He heard it ring over to voicemail. If it was anyone he really wanted to talk to, they'd leave a message. It started ringing again. Could it be Bobby? Not answering Bobby was not an option. Dean raced upstairs, snagging his cell off the bedside table where it was charging. Not bothering to check who was calling, he answered, "Better be good."

"Dean?" It was George. "I was in the area and thought I might stop by. Everything okay?"

"George, this isn't really a good…time…George!" He slapped himself in the forehead. "You're a doctor! Get your ass over here. Now!"

As George tried to ask what was wrong, Dean just hung up. He figured after the amount of fuss he made last time with Sam's freaky amnesia - no, his brother couldn't go get regular amnesia, could he? – that George would come straight here. At least, he hoped George would come straight away. Dean rushed downstairs to tend to his brother, slipping his cell in a pocket and hoping the imp wouldn't mess with it again. As Sam's headwound refused to stop bleeding, Dean realized he needed George to come right away. He hit the redial on his phone.

"I'm pulling up now, Dean. Relax," George told him before Dean had a chance to say anything. "How bad is it?"

"It's his head. I can't get the bleeding to stop," Dean replied, cradling the phone against his shoulder while wringing out the washcloth again. Now both washcloths were dripping wet and the bowl looked like an hors d'oeuvres at a vampire party. Not doing that again, either.

"How is Sam feeling?" He heard a car pull up outside.

"Still out," Dean replied sharply.

The front door opened and George burst through, a small red bag in one hand. Dean did not have time to ask about it as George rushed over to Sam. "How long?" he asked, as though part of the conversation had not been on the phone.

"I'm not sure. At least five minutes." Dean watched as George opened the bag to reveal all kinds of first aide equipment. He breathed a sigh of relief. Their stuff was out in the Impala, unless something already got to it. With steady hands, George cleaned Sam up pretty well and got the bleeding stopped. It was not easy with all of Sam's hair in the way, but George managed not to cut too much of it out of the way.

"I'd prefer to take him in, get it cleaned up right," George said as he poured out Dean's bloody bowl in the sink. "Not to mention some scans, especially with his history. Brad Wayne will kick my ass if he finds out Sam took one to the head and I didn't get him to the hospital." Dean did not answer, thinking it over. "Well? Don't tell me you're thinking about it!"

Dean scowled. "There's something outside and it's after Sam," he finally admitted. "I'm not sure we can get him to the hospital in one piece."

"Some-thing?" George sagged back against the kitchen counter. He pointed out one of the illustrations in Bobby's books. "Don't tell me you believe in the same crap as my aunt and uncle?"

Dean replied with a shrug. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" He couldn't decide if George sounded angry or just upset.

"Well, there are things out there," Dean said, "and in here." He pointed out the line of flour dividing the kitchen from the den. There were tiny white footprints leading into the kitchen.

"What is that?" George bent down to inspect Dean's handiwork. "Flour?"

"I'm pretty sure there's an imp loose in the house. I'm trying to use the flour to track it." When George stared at him with a blank expression, Dean explained, "They're invisible."

"Oh. Of course." George appeared distinctly uncomfortable. "You know, maybe we should call Doctor Wayne." He cleared his throat. "He might know a good way to get Sam to the hospital."

Dean looked at George as a memory returned, sharp and distinct, of Doc Wayne saying he owed Bobby for taking care of a special problem. "Now that's a good idea." He slipped his cell out and located Doc Wayne's cell number. Even after Sam was better he could never quite bring himself to delete it, just in case. It rang in his ear.

"Dean? Is that you?"

"Hey, Doc. Miss us?" Dean asked grimly, his eyes locked on his unconscious brother.

"Something wrong?" The alarm in Doc Wayne's voice was clear.

"A chunk of wood just knocked Sam out. We're at Bobby Singer's place and I'm not sure I can get him to the hospital." Dean paced back and forth beside his brother.

"Should I send an ambulance?" Doc Wayne asked.

"There's something outside," Dean replied. "It's after Sam. It let George in, but I don't know if anyone can get out."

Doc's sigh in his ear was not the most welcome sound. "I didn't know you were in the same line of work as Bobby. Well, with Sam's history, I'd prefer to get him in here and run some tests. Has he woken up yet?"

Dean glared at his brother. "No, not yet." Stubborn bastard couldn't do anything the easy way, could he?

"Dean, I'm calling the ambulance and Reid. Between the two I suspect we can get Sam to the hospital safely." Dean wondered how Doc Wayne knew Reid, the sheriff. "It was Reid who first put me in touch with your uncle, he'll know what to do. Where is your uncle, anyway?" When the hell did Doc Wayne turn into a freaking mind reader?

"Bobby? He's out on a job and had some engine trouble. I'm not sure when he'll make it back." Dean's pacing ramped up and his side issued a fresh protest against the way he was not taking it easy.

"Okay, we'll talk more at the hospital." Doc Wayne cut out. Dean checked the charge on his phone again. Almost dead, even though it had been on the charger long enough for a full charge. "I hate imps."

"I thought you were talking to Doctor Wayne?" George's voice brought him crashing back to the moment.

Dean's eyes jumped back to the still form of his brother. "An ambulance is coming and so is Reid."

"Good. Maybe Mike can talk some sense into you," George mumbled from Sam's side, checking his brother's pulse again.

"How is he?" Dean asked, wondering if he dared leave the room long enough to grab his charger. He decided against it, it wasn't like he was supposed to use it in the hospital anyway. He grabbed his shotgun instead, ramming the cleaning cloth through the barrel.

"The same. The sooner that ambulance arrives the better I'll feel," George said. Dean noticed his friend seemed a little nervous, watching him clean the shotgun while his brother was laying unconscious on the couch.

"Relax," Dean snapped, loading his now clean shotgun with fresh consecrated-iron shot shells. "This is in case the gremlin shows up again."

"I thought the culprit was a fairy?" George asked, stepping closer to Sam.

"Imp." Dean rolled his eyes. Now one of the only friends he had outside of hunting was scared of him. This day just got better and better the longer it ddddrrrraaaggggeeeeddddd on. He sighed. "It's an invisible critter that likes nasty jokes. The gremlin outside is trying to kill my brother." He pumped the shotgun. Everything appeared to be in working order.

George cleared his throat. "Are you talking about the same gremlins that used to take down planes in World War Two?"

Dean shrugged. The hospital was twenty minutes away by Impala, driving at about ten over the speed limit. He talked to Doc Wayne about ten minutes ago. Assuming the ambulance had its lights and sirens on, shouldn't it be arriving now? He checked out the window. Honestly, he hated giving the 'truth is out there' speech, mainly because nobody ever believed him. Sam said it and it was gold, but of course his brother rarely did that these days. Sam went so far into 'protecting the innocent' he was convinced fewer people would be hurt if they were shielded from the truth. Dean still believed that the best defense was a damned good offense, and how could anyone defend themselves if they didn't know there was danger in the first place?

Was that a siren he heard off in the distance? Dean maintained his doorside vigil, one eye on George and Sam, until Reid's squad car squealed up in a cloud of dust. By the manner it slid to a stop, Dean knew Mike had to be driving. Last time Dean gave Mike a few tips on how to handle a full sized car at high speeds, they wound up practicing that very stop in the Impala.

Mike jumped out, gun in hand. Reid was slower and carried a shotgun, but the expertise was evident. Reid was like Bobby, careful and deliberate. "Ambulance?" Dean shouted through the cracked door.

Reid turned slowly, searching the rooftop as he moved closer to the house. "Almost here, Dean. Want to tell me what's going on?"

"Sam's out cold," he stepped out the door, allowing it to slam shut behind him. His eyes scanned the shadows for movement.

"Same thing as last time?" Reid asked, his face severe.

"Nope. Definitely a different thing," Dean replied as the ambulance sirens began their echo off Bobby's graveyard of cars. Tonight the description seemed uncannily accurate. A shadow to the left caught his attention. Dean swung the shotgun around in almost a lazy fashion, covering that spot. He tried to make it casual while still alerting Reid with his eyes. Reid picked up his cue pretty quick, moving to the other side of the house door where he could also cover that spot. Together they advanced slowly toward the shadow, Dean's heartrate picking up with each step. He knew when he was hunting too early, not allowing time to recover from the last hunt, because it made him feel like he did now: heart pounding, palms sweaty, eyes strained, and every nerve in his body jangling with anticipation like he was fifteen years old.

They approached the shadow, but as they drew closer Dean had the feeling it was a false alarm. The shadow appeared normal, no odd dark spots. Reid's flashlight flared suddenly, bathing the dark corner in bright white light. Nothing. With a snarl, Dean spun around, turning his back on the dark corner. The paramedics headed into the house. Dean raced for the door, intent to cover Sam's escape. When he stepped inside just behind the paramedics, Reid and Mike came up on each side of the door. Dean exchanged a nod with Reid before going inside. Would this actually work?

Dean waited impatiently as the paramedics loaded Sam on the gurney. He bounced on the balls of his feet, anxious for Sam to get help. All it took for Sam to get weirdo amnesia was a knock to the head. Well, okay, a car did the knocking last time not a chunk of wood, but still it made Dean worry. Sam looked so vulnerable, and young, laid out on that gurney. Dean followed it outside, ignoring the worried looks from the paramedics that he was hovering over them with a shotgun.

With Reid and Mike's help, they made it to the ambulance without any problems. Mike shouted at him that they'd talk at the hospital as Dean climbed into the back of the ambulance. Dean demanded to know why the siren was off and was told that since Sam was in no immediate danger, there was no reason to speed and endanger others. With a huff he sat back, caressing his shotgun. The paramedics exchanged worried looks, which Dean continued to ignore. A couple of times he thought he heard something from under his feet, or the top of the ambulance, but nothing happened. His heart did not stop racing until they arrived safely at the emergency room.

Dean rounded the ambulance as they wheeled Sam inside, stopping short as his eyes ran over the far side. Five long gashes through the metal ran diagonally down the side, starting from just above the passenger door and ending at the back rear wheelwell. The driver walked up behind him.

"Damn. What the hell did I run into in that salvage yard?" she asked, gently touching a fingertip to a gash.

Dean shook his head. "You really don't want to know." He handed over his shotgun. "Here, give this to the cops when they show up. I have to check on my brother."


	11. Chapter 11

Thanks again to everyone following this. Those of you kind enough to leave reviews have been most generous – thank you! Thanks as always to _**hotshow**_, the editor of this fic.

**Chapter 11**

So this is what it felt like to be the target of a supernatural nasty. Sam had wondered, considering how many times it happened to his brother, but he never thought it would feel quite this bad. He now knew why the Liberty Bell had that huge crack in it, it was to relieve the pressure. Oh, if only his head would crack open just a little, he was certain it would feel better.

There was something hard and smooth in one hand. He gripped it, hoping it could ease the throbbing in his head.

"Sam?" He knew that voice, heard the undercurrent of worry and anxiety. "Sam, you awake?"

He fought to open his eyes, but the lights were far too bright. Sam had to settle for a strained grunt. Next thing he knew, his eyelid was being pried open and a bright light shone in. Trying to escape the piercing light, Sam flung an arm up and pulled away. His arms felt slow and sluggish and that noise in his head bounced off the insides to reverberate so intensely that crack in his skull ought to show up any second.

"Hey, whoa!" Dean. It was Dean's voice he heard. Oh, thank god, Dean was here. His brother could make that light and the horrible noise go away.

"Dean?" he managed to whine. "Hurts."

"Easy, Sammy, easy." Dean sounded so in control and in charge, Sam automatically relaxed. The thing in his hand, he brought it up to his chest and held it there. For some reason he felt better when he did that. "Oh, come on, Sam," Dean whispered, "don't do this to me. Not again."

"Do what?" he whispered, unable to think with all that noise and pain. Even whispering hurt his head and made him wince.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean's voice was soothing as he felt one of his brother's strong hands on his shoulder. Sam tried to relax under his brother's touch, but his head throbbed painfully.

"Doc? Can't you give him something?" Dean's voice broke through the painful haze blocking his thoughts. Yes, please, something, anything.

"Just a moment, Dean." That voice sounded familiar, too, but Sam could not place it. At the moment, he did not care. He wondered briefly if he was dying, but quickly dismissed the thought. Dying would have to feel better than this. After what felt like an eternity, Sam felt a prick in his arm.

"Okay, Sammy," Dean's voice again, "just give it a minute. When you start feeling better, try opening your eyes, okay?"

Sam tried to nod his head, but that was a mistake. The noise reverberating rose to a crescendo. He slammed his free hand on his forehead, trying to hold in his brains because they could be spilling out any second. Something buzzed right around the edges of his consciousness. After a moment he recognized the buzzing as Dean's voice. At least his brother had not left.

From his arm, Sam felt a coolness spread. As it worked its way across his body and up to his head, Sam felt himself relax. The intense, searing pain inside his skull diminished. It was still there, but now it was tolerable. He cracked his eyes open the slightest bit. The painfully bright light was gone, replaced by soft hues of yellow. Hovering nearby were Dean and Doc Wayne.

"Hey, Doc," he thought he said out loud, but Doc leaned over to hear him, "what's going on?"

"Sam, how are you feeling now?" Doc Wayne put a hand on his forehead, pulling back his eyelids to peer into his eyes.

"Better," Sam said, figuring it could not have been much worse. At least the rolling thunder of pain in his head was quieter now, allowing some thought.

"How is Batman?" Doc Wayne asked, pointing to the hand still clutched against his chest.

Confused, Sam looked down at his chest. There it was, that stupid Batman doll with the green eyes. No, it wasn't stupid, it was an analogy for Dean. Sam used his free hand to rub his forehead, the point above his nose where all the wrinkles and tension were. He rolled his head to the side. "It was a trap, wasn't it?" he asked Dean, not particularly caring there was a civilian in the room.

He watched most of the tension in his brother's shoulders fall away. "Yeah, I think so. Sam, do you…"

"I swear, Dean, if you ask me one more time if I know how old you are, I'm going to buy you a damn calendar." With relief, he saw the worried look fall from his brother's face.

"I think he's okay, Doc."

Doc Wane smiled then. "That's good. You had us a bit worried there, Sam."

"Why?" Sam struggled to sit, but both Dean and Doc Wayne kept him firmly pinned to the bed. Doc Wayne operated the bed controls to move him into a somewhat sitting position.

"Don't move the elevation any higher than that today," Doc Wayne warned. "Now, I'll let you two talk for a bit. Dean, don't wear him out." Doc patted Dean on the shoulder, like they were old friends.

After Doc Wayne left, Dean looked at Sam with his normal intensity of worry. "Sammy? You sure you're okay?"

"Except for the fact I'm pretty sure my skull is going to split open any second, yeah, I'm fine, Dean. Why? What happened?" He hugged the Batman to his chest again, only realizing he was doing it when he felt the plastic dig into his ribs. Embarrassed, Sam tried to cover up his actions by fidgeting in his bed, as though he were uncomfortable.

"I guess the imp set out a trap for us. For you." Dean frowned and Sam could almost see the little wheels whirling in his brother's head. It was a good thing Dean's wheels were still working, his felt like they had been shattered into a zillion pieces.

"I don't see how you do this," Sam replied, attempting to will his headache away. It was not working.

"Do what?" Dean asked, curiosity and surprise on his face.

"Let things throw you around and get up, like nothing happened." Sam sighed. "If this is what you feel like afterwards it's hard to believe you can even get up, much less tackle me in the middle of a graveyard."

Dean stared at him a moment before answering. "I doubt that's what I feel like afterwards. I've never been hit by a car."

Sam glared back. "A car hit me inside Bobby's house?"

"No. A two-by-four. But it smacked you in the exact same place you hit when the car got you." Dean's features were decidedly grim.

Sam tried to roll his eyes, but even that hurt. "Fine," he sighed. "So what now? Any ideas about why the imp decided to come after me directly like that?"

Dean scratched his jaw. "Well, actually, I have a couple of ideas. Maybe the imp is controlling the gremlin? That would explain why they're both after you, and it tells us that it's the imp who wants you dead, not the gremlin. And I think this attack may be my fault."

Oh, big surprise there. "Why would it be your fault, Dean?" For the same reason the Earth circles the sun? Because anything that happens to me is your fault – period, Sam figured.

"I invited it to dinner," Dean said calmly. "Suppose the way someone tricked it before was by inviting it to dinner?"

"Oh." Comprehension came slowly through the painful haze, but it came. "It thought you were upping the stakes and retaliated. That would make sense." Sam gave his brother a short nod, about all he could muster at the moment.

"Dean?" Another familiar voice from the hall. Bobby? Wasn't he supposed to be stranded someplace? "How's Sam?"

"He's awake. Come on in, Bobby." Dean moved to the far side of Sam's bed, making room for the older man. Bobby walked in, still wearing the same clothes from early this morning only now they were covered in dust and oil and there were some new rips and tears.

"What happened to you?" Sam asked, not quite believing Bobby's disheveled appearance. "I thought you just broke down?"

"Uh," Bobby's eyes strayed down to his chest. Sam glanced down at the Batman.

"Bobby," he insisted, pulling up the bedsheet, "how did you get here?"

Bobby cleared his throat, shooting a meaningful look at Dean. "Some friends of mine live in the area where the gremlin took out my truck. I really hate those things. My truck is totaled."

"I thought you were going to call when you knew how bad the damage was?" Dean asked while shaking his head. Sam supposed that was Dean's way of letting Bobby know he wasn't going through a third childhood, since he'd already had two now.

"I tried to, Dean, but your cell kept rolling straight over to voicemail." Bobby said with a scowl.

Dean sighed and pulled out his cell. "Yep, dead again." He held it up. "I hate imps."

Bobby nodded. "Makes two of us."

Sam raised a hand. "Three."

"So." Bobby bounced on the balls of his feet a couple of times as he looked between the two of them. "What's the plan?"

"We have to get it before it can get to Sam again," Dean said firmly. Sam just sat back, listening. He doubted he could have deterred whatever train Dean was on right now if he tried. "So I need you to stay here, keep an eye on things, while I go back to your place and take it out."

"What?" Sam asked at the same time as Bobby. Typical Dean, but somehow still not exactly what he expected.

"No, Dean," Sam said, fear spiking through him as he reached out to grab his brother by the jacket, "you can't go after those things by yourself." He fisted Dean's jacket. "Not alone, Dean."

Dean pried his fingers off, giving him a nasty look. "We don't have a choice, Sam." Dean looked at Bobby. "I'm hoping I'll be able to draw the gremlin away, too."

"How do you figure, Dean?" Bobby asked, stepping right up beside the bed. Sam wondered if Bobby intended to prevent him from making another grab for Dean. Their old friend would be in for a surprise if he did.

"I figure they're working together and that's why the gremlin is fixating on Sam," Dean explained.

"Fixating?" Sam asked, bothered by his brother's shift into better vocabulary. How hard did that thing hit his head?

"If I go after the imp, and I'm pretty sure it already thinks I'm after it, it should call the gremlin in to help protect it," Dean finished as though Sam were not even in the room.

Bobby scowled a little, scratching at his chin. "I don't like it, Dean. You shouldn't be going after those things by yourself."

"Yeah!" Sam jabbed a finger at his brother. "What Bobby said!" Somehow the words that usually came so easily to him were not flowing right now. He was grateful Bobby was here to back him up on this.

Both men looked down at Sam with worried expressions. "I'll keep an eye on him, Dean."

"Thanks, Bobby. I wouldn't trust anyone else." Dean started to head out of the room, pausing at the doorway. "I, uh, don't suppose you have a car here?"

"Nope, my friends just dropped me off after I talked to Reid. But I did see George downstairs," Bobby replied.

"No!" Sam shouted, his own voice ricocheting so powerfully inside his skull he had to grasp his temple with one hand while pulling Batman in tighter with the other. Strange how the stupid doll seemed to relieve his anxiety, be a reassuring presence. Eyes squeezed shut against the waves of pain in his head, Sam waited for Dean's assurances that everything would be all right. They did not come.

Sam cracked open an eye, but Dean was not there. Alarmed, his eyelids flew open and head turned rapidly from side to side. "Dean?"

"Easy, Sam," Bobby placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. "Dean knows what he's doing."

Sam glared. "Did that sound as good out loud as it did in your head?"

Bobby cleared his throat. "Well, not really, but Dean's good. He'll be fine."

"Bobby," Sam struggled to sit up against Bobby's hand, "he has at least four cracked ribs and there's so much swelling George couldn't tell if he had any torn muscles or ligaments."

Bobby's eyebrows shot up. "You remember all that?"

"Of course I do," he snapped. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Well, uh," Bobby released his shoulder to motion to Batman, "what's with that?"

Sam stared at Batman a moment before answering, "I'm really not sure." He looked back up at Bobby. "But we can't let Dean do this alone, Bobby. He isn't up to it and he'll never admit it. We have to help."

Bobby sighed. "You're not up to it, either, Sam. Tell you what. You promise me to stay right here, and I'll go after Dean. Deal?"

Sam chewed his lower lip, considering the offer. His mind made up, he nodded. Bobby was barely out of sight when Sam swung his legs out of bed. If Bobby honestly believed he was going to sit here while his brother faced down two nasties, that man did not know the Winchesters as well as he thought.


	12. Chapter 12

Many thanks to everyone reading this and to those of you kind enough to take the time to review. My email went bonkers on Friday, so I was unable to reply to those of you leaving unregistered reviews. I'd like to take a moment to thank you as well, because if you leave your email I typically do respond. Thanks again!!

**Chapter 12**

As he headed to the first floor, Bobby wondered if he should try to catch up with Dean or take the safer route of calling a cab. Dean was going to be seriously pissed that he left Sam alone in the hospital, but if Dean was right, Sam would not be in any danger. Bobby stopped cold in the middle of the hallway. What if Dean was wrong? Then Sam was a target, not just a sitting duck but a wounded one as well. Damn it. Either way, John Winchester would be haunting his ass.

Slowly, Bobby headed back to Sam's room. He knew Dean was probably in over his head with this one, but that boy had surprised him more than once in the past. Dean had better be all right, he told himself, or he'd kill the boy.

As he rounded the corner to Sam's room, he found Sam stumbling down the hall, jeans pulled on over the hospital gown and barefoot. "Sam!" he snapped, rushing forward to catch the younger Winchester before he fell face first into the tile floor.

Sam tried to shake him off. "I'm going to help Dean, Bobby," Sam insisted. Judging by the look on Sam's face, Bobby knew there was no talking this Winchester out of what he had his mind set to. Yep, he needed to put up some new wards against John.

Bobby forced Sam back into the hospital room. "At least finish dressing first," Bobby said in a low voice, fearing a nurse or doctor would overhear them and send Doc Wayne in running. In a chair he found the plastic bag that once contained Sam's jeans. Inside were also Sam's sneakers and what was left of his shirt. He helped Sam with the shoes, wondering how they could get back to the house.

"Got it," Bobby pulled out the dreaded cell phone and redialed the last number.

"Bobby? Your nephew okay?" Reid asked anxiously before he could say anything.

"He should be just fine," Bobby replied, casting a worried eye over Sam's pale face, "but we're worried about Dean. He's headed back to the house."

"Don't tell me he's going after what hurt his brother by himself?" Reid asked, voice dripping with disbelief. Bobby knew Reid set a lot of store by partners, to the point of becoming something of a busybody in his partner's personal life. It took a great deal of convincing to talk Reid out of signing Mike up for one of those internet dating things on the sly.

"I don't suppose you can give us a hand?" Bobby asked, though he already assumed he knew the answer.

"You know it. Meet you out front?" Reid asked. "Oh, Mike is still with me, if that's all right."

"No problem," Bobby assured him, "I think we're going to need all the help we can get on this one." Sam motioned to him impatiently from the doorway, where the young man desperately clung in an attempt to keep the wall steady.

As they made their way quietly through the halls, Bobby hoped Sam's odd appearance did not clue anyone in to their escape. Sam still wore the hospital gown, though it was tucked into his jeans and covered somewhat by Bobby's own vest. That plus the fact Sam stumbled, hanging on desperately to Bobby's arm with one hand and that damned Batman with the other, was pretty much the equivalent of a the word escape in bright red flashing lights. As they approached the front doors, Bobby noticed Sam straighten up and become steadier on his feet. So, that was a genetic trait and not just a Dean-thing.

"How are we getting to your place?" Sam asked, his hand falling away from Bobby's shoulder.

When Bobby glanced back, Sam appeared perfectly normal. The Batman had even disappeared, though there was a bulge under the vest now. "My friend Reid is going to drive us."

Sam nodded. "Mike with him? He's a good guy."

"Yep." Bobby pointed out the glass doors. "There they are. Let's go before any of the docs spot you."

"Bobby?" Sam was close on his heels through the doors. "How many of the docs do we know?"

"Small town, Sam. They all know you," he explained as they passed out into the clear night air. Bobby took a deep breath, imaging the clean air filling his lungs. Shame. Nobody should have to hunt on a perfect night like this. Then again, he was not a big fan of hunting in bad weather, either, so that made him something of a hypocrite. Ah, well, everyone had a cross to bear. His was, specifically, the Winchesters.

Bobby helped Sam into the back of the squad car, worried about the unfocused look in the boy's eyes. Bobby settled in quickly, slamming the door shut. "Let's go."

Reid nodded to Mike, who was behind the wheel. Mike pulled out slowly, stealing glances in the rearview. "Sam? You all right?"

Bobby did not want to look over, knowing full well how bad Sam really looked. "Fine," Sam said, though he did not sound it, "we just have to get to Dean before he does something stupid."

Bobby watched Mike's face in the mirror. The deputy looked distinctly worried. "How do you know Dean is going to do something stupid?"

"He's my brother," Sam sighed, leaning heavily against the seat. "Trust me, I know. Can we go any faster?"

Mike glanced over at Reid. Reid nodded and Mike flipped on their lights. As Mike sped through the city streets, Bobby noticed something. He nudged Sam, motioning to Mike.

"Yeah, I know," Sam said to his unspoken question, "he and Dean trade driving techniques." One side of Sam's mouth curled up in an attempt to grin. "They had a donut competition last time we were here."

"So that's why the tires went bald so fast," Reid said from the front seat as Mike's ears flushed pink. Bobby dropped that line of questions instantly; he did not want to get Mike in trouble, Dean would not stand for that. He was already living on borrowed time since he helped Sam leave the hospital. Getting Mike in trouble just might be the icing on the cake. Or, more accurately, the last nail in his coffin.

------------------

George watched warily as Dean drove his car back to Singer's. He still did not understand why he couldn't drive his own damn car, but he supposed that was an argument for another time. Dean appeared uncharacteristically angry right now, which reminded George sharply of the first time he met Dean. He and Brad Wayne went to Singer's to relay Sam's test results and Dean met them at the car. At the time he thought Brad's reaction was pretty funny, since unflappable Doctor Wayne was always so calm and cool. Then Singer came to the door with a shotgun and Sam, the one with the amnesia, showed up with a crowbar. Interesting family, to say the least.

Once or twice during the drive to Singer's George could have sworn he heard sirens in the distance, but he could not be sure. He tried to tell Dean, but the man he thought of as a friend before today just snarled. George sat with his arms crossed over his chest, watching. He could do nothing else, trying to talk some sense into Dean was useless, and he could not believe Dean was headed out to the salvage yard with his brother lying in a hospital bed. That just seemed so out of character.

Dean stopped short of actually driving into Singer's Auto Salvage. "I'll get out here," he said, opening the door, "you head back."

"Wait a minute!" George lunged across the seat, nearly receiving a faceful of door for his trouble. "You demand to come all the way out here, and now you're just going to the house by yourself?"

Dean stared at the road ahead, features set in determination that George had never seen before. "It's safer this way, George. Go on, it's not you believe any of this stuff anyway." Dean turned away, heading into Singer's on foot. At night. Alone.

George slid behind the wheel, watching Dean's back disappear into the shadows. Oh, crap. He pulled the driver's door closed and eased slowly onto the winding route through the salvage yard. Dean turned in the glare from his headlights, frowning. With an obscene hand gesture Dean made it pretty clear what he thought of George's intrusion. George honked at him, pulling the car in closer. Dean's head tilted back and George figured his friend's eyes were rolling skyward.

Finally, after several strained moments, Dean shook his head and opened the passenger door. "You're making a mistake," he said, poking his head in.

"Get in," George insisted. "I'll go up to the house with you."

"No." Dean slammed the door, turning to walk away.

George opened his door again, stepping out of the car. "Then I'll walk there with you, Dean. You aren't getting rid of me that easily."

Dean turned slowly to face him, confusion etched on his face. "Why?"

George shrugged. "Because this just isn't like you and I want to know what's going on."

"No, you don't," Dean replied with a finality George hoped the other man did not mean.

"Come on, Dean." George left the car to stand face to face with his friend. "You just left Sam in the hospital. There are a lot of things I might say about you, but I never would have thought you would even think about doing that. Why? What's so important out here?"

Dean glared at him, much the same way as the first time they met. "I told you, an imp and a gremlin. Besides, Bobby is at the hospital with Sam. Look, you think it's crazy, so just head on back home before you get hurt."

Dean turned his back again. George groaned in frustration, grabbing the back of his neck with one hand. He rushed back to the car, shutting off the engine and depositing the keys in his pocket. Following at a distance, George made certain he remained out of Dean's reach. He heard about that bar fight, too. Of course, Dean had not really scared him since that very first encounter, but tonight just might rank pretty close up there. Brad had warned him, a few times, not to take Dean too lightly.

As they came within sight of the house, Dean slowed. George stopped beside the rusting remains of an old Pontiac to watch. Instead of going straight to the house, Dean stopped at his car. A flash of silver in the low lights and the trunk popped open. Dean opened some sort of box inside the trunk. George stepped forward cautiously. He figured Dean knew he was there, but he still did not want to incur any…

His mouth dropped and his feet froze to the ground as he watched. Dean rummaged inside the box, a box full of things. Weapons. There was no other word for it, it was a box of weapons. A sawed-off shotgun held the lid up as Dean pawed through, selecting some items and taking them out, checking others before scowling and putting them back inside.

"Fine," his voice sounded deeper inside the trunk, "if you're coming you'll need a weapon. Can you handle this?"

The sawed-off shotgun was thrust into his hands. George looked it over with trembling fingers. "I, uh, never used one before."

Dean took it back and checked that it was loaded with far too much ease for George's liking. "It's ready to go. If you see anything coming at you, shoot it. It's loaded with consecrated iron shot," Dean handed the shotgun back, "so try not to shoot me."

"Consecrated iron shot?" George asked, looking at the thing in his hand.

"I don't think it'll affect the imp, but it's invisible anyway. I'm hoping it'll at least hurt the gremlin." Dean took another shotgun out of the trunk and checked its load. A few things went into his pockets before slamming the trunk closed. "Stay behind me and keep your eyes open. These things are trying to kill Sam." One hand snapped the shotgun up and down, pumping it in one action. "That's not going to happen."

Dean jerked his head toward the house and George followed, but not too close. This was insane, completely insane. Was that crazy woman psychiatrist after the wrong brother? How could Dean, who always seemed to be so rock-solid stable, be acting like this? George hung back just a little, wondering what Dean could be looking for on the roof. He looked up too and spotted a shadow moving just over the roofline.

"What was that?" he pointed up at the roof.

"Quick, inside," Dean hissed, grabbing him by the arm and shoving him toward the door. As George was forced inside, he managed to twist around. Dean covered their hasty entrance to the house, that determined look on his face. No, it was more than determination, it was intense.

George's heart pounded in his chest and the air suddenly seemed thin, very thin. He waited just inside the door as Dean slammed it shut, locking the various locks Bobby installed on the inside. "Come on," Dean growled, rushing toward a white line on the floor.

George checked out the white line too. What was that? Baby powder? Flour? What-ever-it-was had tiny footprints crossing back and forth over it. The intense look on Dean's face did not alter.

"No telling what room it's in," Dean muttered, running a hand through the white powder. "Damn thing's smart. Figures."

"Dean?" George pointed out a set of the footprints. "Those look like tiny boots."

A quick jerk of the head answered him. "Maybe they are related to leprechauns."

"What?" This was too much. "Did you say leprechauns?"

Dean glared at him. "I'm sure it's an imp." His brow furrowed. "Are leprechauns invisible, too?" He shook his head. "Nevermind. We need to find a way to trap it. Come on." Dean led him into the kitchen where over twenty of Bobby's books laid out on the counter. Dean went to one, flipped through it. "Don't just stand there," he snapped, "see if you can find anything."

George swallowed against the lump lodged in his throat. He opened the nearest book, though he had no idea what he needed to look for. The title of this one should be everything you never wanted to know about werewolves. George practically threw it away from him, the illustrations were particularly stomach-churning. In the next book, the words actually looked like he should be able to read it, but he couldn't. Had he gone suddenly dyslexic?

"Dean? What's wrong with this one?" George held it out.

Dean glanced at it. "Old English." He reached out, flipped through a couple of pages. "It's about witches. We don't need that. Try another one."

George took it back, wondering again about Dean's sanity. Heck, what about Singer's sanity, or his aunt and uncle? He picked up another book and again could not read it. This one was in Latin. Who kept books in Latin? "Does your uncle collect old books, Dean?"

"Like you wouldn't believe," Dean muttered, moving into another book.

George glanced over. The book Dean poured over now was also in Latin. "How do you know what you're looking at there?" he asked.

"Dad." That appeared to be the only answer Dean was willing to give. "Here we go!" One finger jabbed at the page. "All we need now is something it will want to bait it." Dean grinned as he marked the page. He shoved the book into George's arms. "Don't take your eyes off that, or the little sucker will do something to it."

"Little sucker?" George asked weakly as he followed.

"The damn imp!" Dean snapped, headed out of the kitchen.


	13. Chapter 13

Hey – a second update this week! Hurrah!! Thanks to _**hotshow**_ for her diligent proof-reading and to everyone following this fic. Even though it's a sequel to Lil' Sammy, I didn't really expect it to have an equal popularity, but it may even pass up Lil' Sammy's initial following. Wow!! Thanks again!!

**Chapter 13**

What was with all the stupid questions, anyway? Dean restrained a desire to growl at George. He had a job to do and this civilian was slowing him down. Did Bobby collect books? Dean scoffed aloud, drawing another concerned look from George. The guy probably thought he was losing his mind, but Dean was not the one in the home of the biggest damn bookworm in five states asking if Bobby collected books!

"Dean? What are we doing now?" George asked in that voice you use when you're hoping the person you're talking to doesn't turn violent.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Just follow me," he snapped, heading for Bobby's "special" cabinet. Dean wondered if George knew what was inside it, if Bobby kept the "special parts" for George's aunt and uncle in the same place he kept his own. The cabinet door was locked, as usual. Dean jiggled the handle, wondering where the hell Bobby kept the key.

"We don't have time for this," he muttered, making a point of ignoring any reaction George might have. He rushed over to Bobby's desk – ah ha! Paperclip! As he bent it into the proper shape, Dean sent a silent prayer of thanks to the man who invented the paperclip. He headed back to the cabinet, holding up the bent wire triumphantly. There was no ignoring the look of disbelief on George's face this time.

Dean glared back as he inserted the paperclip into the lock. Fortunately, Bobby set more store by his charms and wards than by locks and keys. Well, if he were to get right down to it, Bobby set a lot more store by his shotgun and a bottle of holy water than anything else. The lock clicked quickly under his practiced fingers as the sounds of police sirens drew closer.

He shot a look at George over his shoulder. "You hear that?"

George nodded, staring hungrily at the door as if salvation would come charging through at any moment. Dean choked back a growl as he yanked the door open. His eyed grazed over the containers of various charms and trinkets, wondering briefly what they were for. Finally his gaze rested on a container of sorts. It used to be a shaving mug, before Bobby decided to maintain a manly stubble. Now Bobby used it to keep some kind of silver charms, which Dean saw when he removed the top.

He dumped out the contents onto the shelf in order to inspect the shaving mug. It was ceramic, which was a definite plus, and looked large enough for an imp. Dean might have preferred something metal, but the book said natural elements were better and ceramic was basically fired clay, so it ought to work. Then he spotted some pretty stones on the bottom shelf. Idly wondering if those would be enough to attract an imp, Dean snagged a couple and placed them inside the mug.

"Bring that over here," Dean ordered, heading for Bobby's desk. After rummaging in the drawers, he located a permanent marker. Taking the book from George, Dean opened it to the marked page. Using the marker, he copied the symbols in the book onto the ceramic jar. When he was finished, he did the same thing to the lid. Funny, the sirens sounded close just a minute ago and now nothing. Opting for George to guard the jar instead of the book, he handed it over carefully.

"Whatever you do, don't drop that," Dean warned as he headed toward the door. Peering out through a crack, he saw nothing amiss outside. Then again, he realized, George's car was still blocking the road to the house. If they were followed, if Bobby called for some reinforcements, whoever was out there would be on foot. That growl crawling back up his throat, Dean jerked his head at George. "Grab the shotgun. Let's go."

---------------

Mike stared at the car blocking their way. It was George's car, he was positive. The left rear bumper still had that dent from the time George backed into a light pole in the hospital parking lot. "I guess George gave Dean a lift?" he asked in the otherwise silent car.

"Or it got them," came Sam's response. Mike glanced back over his shoulder, expecting to see Sam slumped against the seat, barely able to hold himself up. Instead Sam sat straight up, eyes scanning the car ahead of them, alert. "I don't see any damage from here, but we need to check."

The rear door swung open wide before Sam hopped out. Mike cut his eyes at Reid. "Which one was in the hospital this time?" he asked softly.

Reid made a scoffing noise. "Does it matter, rookie?" Reid's door opened and he jumped out, moving easily for a man with more salt than pepper in his hair.

A hand on his shoulder prevented Mike from following immediately. "If we're not careful," Singer's whisper sent a chill down his spine, "they're both going to wind up there. Or in the morgue."

Mike turned around slowly, but he was alone in the car now. Looking through the windshield he saw everyone else inspecting George's car. Great, now they were trying to leave him behind! Mike rushed to catch up, slowing when he noticed Reid's expression in the light cast from their headlights. Reid had that intense expression that meant they should move real slow and be real careful, because the bad guys were real close. Mike unholstered his gun, carrying it tight in his right hand.

Reid motioned, telling Mike to circle George's car from the far side. He did, moving ahead of Singer. When he reached the front bumper, he stopped short. Three long gashes through the metal started from the front wheel well and made their way forward through the driver's side headlight. Mike cast a worried look around for whatever made this before tentatively touching the gashes. If he didn't know better, he would swear it had been made by claws and not something George drove into. Not moving from his position, Mike's eyes searched out anything George might have driven into to make those gashes on the way in, but he couldn't spot anything. Then again, it was dark.

"Guess they ran into something and went the rest of the way on foot," Mike said, pointing out the gashes. Sam beat Reid to check it out.

"Idiot," Sam muttered, looking far too disgruntled. Mike never really got to know Sam during his bout with amnesia, but he knew how much it had bothered Dean. More than once George had mentioned how Dean seemed so relaxed now and not a nervous wreck. Mike had blown it off at the time, but he would not put it past Dean to put his own life on the line to protect his brother. Actually, it was exactly what he would expect. He and Dean thought alike, which was why they got along so well. And probably why Dean was always trying to hook him up with the slut of the week when the brothers were in town. He noticed Dean never tried that with George.

They moved slowly around the car toward the house. Singer carried the shotgun Dean had in the ambulance. Ha! Talk about a worried paramedic team! Mike grinned into the darkness, glad for some cover at such a serious time. Reid would chew him out for smiling right now. Arranging his face into a more appropriate expression, Mike scanned the shadows ahead of him. A hand on his arm made him jump.

"Settle down," Sam hissed, "it might hear you."

"It?" Mike whispered. "What do you mean, it?"

"Nevermind!" Sam shoved him aside. Oh, if he weren't Dean's brother, Mike would be seriously tempted to arrest him for obstructing justice.

He noticed Sam kept looking up, at Singer's roof. A glance at Singer told him that the old man was doing the same. When he turned to catch Reid's attention, he realized his partner was also scanning the area at roof-level. O-o-o-okay. Since everyone else was looking up, Mike was pretty sure he was the only one seeing the dark blur moving toward them. He raised his pistol, aiming in the darkness and hoping Reid would notice in time to cover for him.

The dark blur moved fast, faster than Mike would have thought possible. He put pressure on the trigger, hoping it wasn't Dean out investigating the sirens. Something white flashed in the blur, something that looked suspiciously like long, sharp teeth. Mike fired, repeatedly.

His gunfire was joined by a shotgun blast. Well, at least Singer noticed! The dark blur spun away from them, heading back into the darkness. Mike stopped firing when his gun clicked twice, out of ammo. He would have to go back to the car for another clip.

"Here." A familiar voice said from his left. Mike looked over. A hand held out a clip that fit his pistol. As he reached out for it, he realized it was Dean handing it over.

"Good thing that wasn't you," Mike said, nodding in the direction the blur went.

"Or you," Dean replied, holding up a shotgun with a tendril of smoke curling from its muzzle.

"That was you?" Mike asked, surprised.

"Can't let a perfectly good wingman go down," Dean replied, levity in his voice but his eyes serious.

"In flames," Mike agreed with a nod, pocketing his empty clip. "I owe ya a clip."

Dean nodded. "You can pay me back tomorrow."

Mike returned the nod. He understood that was assuming they both lived through the night. "So what was that?"

"It wasn't invisible," George's voice sounded strange, thin and high, "so I'm guessing it was the gremlin."

Mike caught Dean's eye, wondering if George took a blow to the head, too. "Yep," Dean said calmly, as though he discussed such things daily, "that was the gremlin. Still have that container?"

Mike turned to squint in the low light thrown through Bobby's dusty house windows. George held out an object that fit easily in his hands. O-o-o-kay. When Reid said nothing, just stood beside Singer and whispered quietly, Mike decided to follow his partner's lead. He waited to see what would happen next. Obviously there was another rabid animal at Singer's that Dean and George were calling a gremlin, probably because they had not been able to actually identify it yet.

"Do…do we want to stay out here?" George asked, his voice breaking. Mike wondered if George ever worked in the ER, he did not seem to take pressure situations very well.

"No," Sam said forcefully. "Everyone in the house."

Mike hung back, his pistol at the ready, to watch their backs as the rest retreated to the safety of the house. He noticed Dean and Sam exchange fierce looks, but neither said anything. Then Dean looped Sam's arm over his shoulders and led them both into the house silently. Sam stumbled at the front door, which Mike found worrying.

Mike closed the door behind them, thankful for four solid walls between them and whatever rabid animal was hunting Singer and his relatives this time.

----------

George worried that Dean's precious shaving mug with marker scribbles would slip out of his sweat-slick hands and crash on the floor. He did not know how much longer he would be able to hold on to it. Fortunately, he was relieved of his burden by Bobby Singer.

"Yeah, that should work," Bobby said, inspecting the shaving mug. "But did it have to be my favorite shaving mug?"

"Said the man with a beard," Dean quipped. George backed up until he felt a solid surface behind him. Yes, something to hold him up now. This evening had been more of an experience than he ever wanted. Might want. Never wanted.

"It's not easy, is it?" A smooth, soft voice spoke in his ear. George jumped, turning to stand face to face with the sheriff, Mike's boss – er – partner. Whatever.

"What?" he asked, feeling as though he had just come out of a martini shaker. No wonder Bond preferred them this way; he was crazy, too.

"To find out all those scary stories you used to tell yourself were just stories are true," Reid replied softly.

"What!" Had the whole world lost its mind???

"Sshh!" Reid hushed him, motioning to the kitchen. On automatic, he followed slowly. Bobby's kitchen looked the same as always, an island of sanity in the midst of this chaos. Well, sanity was relative; all those books were still strewn over the counters.

"Mike doesn't know," Reid nodded toward the main room. "I'd just as soon keep it that way."

George blinked slowly, still not comprehending, well, anything. "What? You mean you think this whole imp-fairy-gremlin-leprechaun thing is real?"

Reid frowned. "We're dealing with four things?"

George shook his head. "No, two. I mean, none! What the hell are you talking about?" Emotions flowed unchecked through him as images of dark blurs on the roof and tiny booted footprints in flour flashed in his mind. "You believe it." It was an accusation, not a question.

Reid nodded. "You don't work in law enforcement as long as I have, in this area, without running across a few of these things. It's how Bobby and I met in the first place. Sometimes I refer him on special jobs. You can ask Doctor Wayne if you like."

The use of Brad Wayne's name was a slap across the face to him. Well, it certainly would explain why Brad was always cautioning him about Dean – he knew. Brad knew they were all crazy.

"And you haven't told Mike." George nodded. "Because he'd think you're crazy and report you."

"No." Reid sighed, leaning back against the kitchen counter. He took a moment to take a long look out the window before returning his attention to George. "Because I'm afraid Mike will start hunting, the way Bobby, Dean and Sam do."

"Hunting?" George asked, wondering when the world took a detour from reality. "How would any of this make Mike want to go deer hunting? And why would you care?"

Reid sighed, a heavy sound in a bizarre conversation. "Not deer. Hunting those things." A thumb jabbed over his shoulder at the kitchen window.

"You mean," George glared at Reid, "there are people who just go out looking for fairies and imps?"

Reid scratched the top of his head. "Well, I never heard of anyone hunting a fairy, but I suppose that's possible. Usually it's ghosts or poltergeists or, in Bobby's case, demons. Not sure what those boys specialize in." Reid glanced down briefly. "I've been afraid to ask, to be honest."

"Why?" That seemed to be the only thing he could ask anymore. What? Why? It seemed that 'what the hell' would be far more appropriate.

"Dean." Reid's eyes danced to the open kitchen door and back. "If you listen to Bobby, that boy could hang the moon with one hand and shoot out the stars with the other while Sam gave you a dissertation on why technically it wasn't possible and how Dean was able to do it." Reid shrugged. "To be honest, there are just some things that I don't want to know."

George nodded. "I can understand that."

"I'll bet." Reid stepped forward, clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Let's get through tonight and then we can both pretend it never happened."

"Weak." George muttered as he allowed Reid to steer him back toward the main room. "You do know that was really weak."

"Not one of my better speeches," Reid replied. "You should hear the one I do on bus safety for the elementary school. The kids call it rockin'."

George raised an eyebrow. "Back in the sixties?"

Reid shoved him into the room, with quite a bit more force than he expected. Bobby was no longer in the main room. Sam sat on the sofa with Dean hovering close by while Mike and Dean talked in low tones. Seeing the two of them standing side by side like that, checking their sidearms, George was struck by the similarities between the two men. They had the same stance, composure, and bearing. Why had George never noticed before? Clearly he watched two men with training; they could be soldiers. Watching them, he could understand why they got along so well. He could also understand Reid's worry, as crazy as it sounded. As alike as they appeared, it was not difficult to image them having similar interests.

"Dean?" Sam asked, his voice strong in direct contrast to his pale skin. "It would be better if I did it. The imp is already targeting me."

Dean glared at his brother. "I'm already pissed at you, Sam. Don't make it worse. You're going to stay where I can keep an eye on you."

"Fine." Sam huffed, pulling something out from under the vest he wore. He hugged a black object against his chest. As George tried to figure out what it was, he saw Dean's eyes go wide.

"Sam?"


	14. Chapter 14

Here's the new update! Sorry for not having it ready to post sooner, but the anticipation of the new season had me on pins and needles – I just couldn't concentrate!! Many thanks to everyone following this and those of you kind enough to review, and to **_hotshow _**for her diligent and timely proof-reading. (This story is all her fault, you know.)

**Chapter 14**

Dean felt all the air squeezed from his lungs as he saw Batman clutched against Sam's chest. Oh please, anything but that. He'd prefer to deal with a dozen gremlins and imps than that again. He used his eyes to plead with Sam not to do that again, not to choose to be a kid again to make them safe. Right now, nothing else could make their situation more dangerous.

Sam peered up at him through shaggy bangs, slouched over that damn Batman. "Well, if you're going to treat me like a kid…" A thin smile flickered across Sam's face. Bastard. If it wasn't for that head wound…

Dean forced air into his lungs, a measure of relief filling him at the same time. "Fine," he agreed reluctantly. "But I'm doing it with you."

"Bad idea." George's voice sounded out of place. "You two are both injured. Someone else should do whatever you two have in mind."

"Volunteering?" Dean asked, surprised. He figured George was way too freaked to help out with anything more demanding than carrying stuff around.

"No," Mike interjected, "I am." He slipped his pistol back into its holster, but did not snap on the strap to hold it in place. "What do we do?"

Dean stared at Mike a moment. "He's my brother, I'm doing it."

"Is George right, Dean? Are you injured?" Mike demanded. When Dean looked away, focusing on Sam instead, he asked, "George?"

"Several cracked ribs. There's so much trauma to that side I can't tell how much muscular damage he might have," George said.

"So much for doctor-patient confidentiality," Dean grumbled, pushing his gun into his back waistband.

"So it's true?" Mike asked, his face reflecting what he thought of Dean hiding that pesky little fact.

"So what?" Dean snapped back. "I can still do it."

"No," Mike said firmly. "Besides, with you and Reid watching our backs, what could go wrong?"

"Seriously, dude," Dean replied, alarmed, "don't say things like that. And I don't think that would be…"

"It's a good idea," Sam interjected. "Look, Dean, it's perfect. I won't be the bait alone, you'll still have my back and I won't have to worry about you being thrown into a wall or something."

"You don't need to go flying into any walls," Bobby said sharply. Dean spun around to face him. When did he come back? Damn, but Bobby was quiet. How did he do that?

"I don't like it," Dean argued.

"I don't either," Reid said, joining him. Finally, maybe he had someone who made sense on his side. "We don't have any idea what you're going up against."

"True," Mike said, crossing his arms over his chest, "but we'll never know unless we draw it out. It already has Sam's scent so he's the best choice as bait, but with that head injury he doesn't need to go it alone."

Dean watched a silent argument pass between Reid and Mike and could not follow any of it. Weird. He and Sam did that kind of thing all the time, but it was eerie to see it happening between two other people. He wondered if other people noticed when he and Sam did that. Reid nodded, grudgingly. It looked like Mike won.

"Sam and I are the bait. Dean, you and Reid figure out where the rest of you should be to cover us while Bobby and I check out where it's happening." Mike pointed out George. "You give Sam a once-over while we're getting ready."

Before Dean could wage another protest, Mike and Bobby went into the next room. The next thing he knew, Reid was at his side. "Well, Dean? How do we hold off an imp and a gremlin?"

Dean shook his head. "No idea. I'm banking on the idea that the imp called the gremlin, that it's not just here by chance. We figure if we can capture the imp, the gremlin should call it quits and leave Sam alone."

Reid's brow puckered with worry lines. "That's a lot of assumptions, Dean."

"Yeah," Sam grumbled from the couch, where George shone a penlight in his eyes, "welcome to our world."

A dark chuckle issued from Reid. "Okay, good point. But how do we cover them without the imp knowing?"

"We don't." Dean shrugged. "All we can do is try to keep them safe." He ran the layout of the next room through his head. "I have an idea."

Two hours later, they all laid in wait. Okay, he had been really reaching at this point, but Dean still thought they had a chance. An hour after setting everything up and he was still banking on their chances. Anything to keep that stupid Batman toy away.

Dean had surrounded Mike and Sam with a ring of salt and flour, not to mention the stupid shaving mug. Yes, it had been his idea, but shouldn't Sam have come up with something better by now? Seriously, that was Sam's job, to come up with better ideas. After a head injury, he couldn't really expect Sam to come up with something brilliant, but that was what he had come to expect of his baby brother. Was it too much to ask? Shouldn't he be able to come up with something better?

Dean sighed, fingering the trigger on his shotgun again. The imp needed to show up soon, or this whole thing was a colossal waste of time. A small sound caught his attention. Moving only his eyes, Dean searched for the source of the sound. It came again, from Sam.

Sam stared down at the floor. When Dean looked down, he saw that the ring of flour had been marred with tiny footprints. White feet moved toward the shaving mug. He glanced up hopefully at Sam. Either Sam or Mike would have to move pretty fast to put the lid on the shaving mug while the imp was still in it. That was when he expected the gremlin to attack the house, despite Bobby's protections.

"Now!" Sam pounded the floor next to the mug while Mike slammed the lid on. They looked triumphantly at each other.

"What was that?" Mike asked, moving to peek under the lid.

Sam's hand slammed down on top of Mike's. "Don't," Sam warned. "Trust me, you don't want to let it out."

"Let what out?" Mike asked. "That critter must use some hellacious camouflage." Mike's head shook back and forth.

"Yep." Dean stood up from behind the couch. "Like you wouldn't believe."

"But it's so small," Mike argued. "How could it have done all that to Sam?"

"There's another one outside," Reid said, moving out from behind a bookcase against the wall. "It's big."

"Can I come out now?" George's voice echoed in the kitchen.

"Yes, George, you're safe." Dean rolled his eyes, leaning the shotgun against the wall. "Now how long do you think we should wait before checking outside?" he asked Sam.

"Let's give it an hour," Sam suggested as George peeked around the corner.

"Works for me," Bobby said.

As Dean glanced over to Reid to get his reaction, he noticed the shaving mug move. It didn't move far, just half an inch or so, but there was no one around it. He froze, watching it. It rocked back and forth a couple of times, the lid shaking. Dean hissed for Sam's attention.

"I see it," Sam hissed back. "Bobby, what's going on? I thought you checked Dean's inscriptions?"

"There was nothing wrong with my inscriptions!" Dean shot back, though there was little room for indignation with that shaving mug learning the jitterbug only a few feet away.

"He's right, Sam," from the corner of his eye Dean saw Bobby pull Sam back from the mug, "they looked good to me."

"Get back," Dean motioned to Mike and Reid, "it's going to…"

The mug shattered with the force of a sonic boom, drenching the room in ear piercing sound and tiny shards of mug. Dean felt the pinpricks as the shards hit him, tiny stabs against his exposed face and neck and hands. One impacted close to his eye, making him spin away wincing.

"Dean?" George's voice this time. "Dean, you okay?"

He tried opening his eyes, found that he could and forced them to open all the way. Everyone stared at him. Dean sought out the last spot he had seen the mug. It was utterly destroyed.

"Well, so much for that stupid idea."

-----------

A huge drop of blood, like it came out of a giant sized medicine dropper, came out of Dean's temple. It hovered uncertainly on his face, teetering on the edge of whatever wound it poured from, before splashing down in gory triumph over the side of Dean's face. They so did not need this.

"Dean? Dean, you okay?" George asked. The good doctor had still been at a relatively safe distance when the mug exploded. Really, there was no other word for it, it exploded. Sam dug deep into his prized vocabulary, but no other word fit what he just witnessed.

Sam blinked wearily as he watched George rush over to his brother, wincing at the bleeding wound. Scalp wounds always looked far worse than they were. Sam never worried unless Dean actually hit the ground or passed out. Then it was bad. He started to move to get something to help, but George grabbed a red bag near the wall and rushed back to Dean's side. Honestly, the doctor was taking things much better than Sam expected. He thought George would be totally freaked by now.

"What the hell can do that?" Mike whispered, staring down at the spot the mug had been. Tiny shards of white ceramic embedded into the floor in a circular pattern were the only proof a mug had once been there.

A deep sigh came from Reid. "Come on, rookie. Bobby and I need to talk to you."

Sam waited until the three men left the room. Dean grumbled something as he sat next to Sam, George coming at him with white gauze and a pair of tweezers.

"What?" Sam asked. He suspected the explosion affected his hearing because he usually didn't miss his brother's grumbles, even though he often pretended not to hear them.

"I said, now it's my turn." Dean flinched as George removed the shard embedded in his eyebrow, glaring at the man trying to help.

"Your turn?" George's voice shook as he worked, applying pressure against the wound to stop the bleeding.

With a glare, Dean shoved George away as he took over responsibility for his bleeding temple. "To have Mike acting like you."

"We should really wash that out," George said sharply. Sam thought that was an excellent idea.

"Not now," Dean argued before Sam could voice an opinion. "No time. There is no way the imp won't come after us now. Just stitch it up."

George shook his head, reaching into the red bag again. He came up with some butterfly closures. "This ought to work for now."

"Dean," Sam whispered, "as long as there is a doctor here…"

"No time, Sam," Dean said firmly with a snarl on his face. He motioned toward where the other men disappeared. "You think Mike…" Dean's head shook quickly. "Nevermind. Doesn't matter."

Sam could not help his sigh of frustration as he watched George patch up his brother. Again. Okay, so hunting was necessary and important, and Dean had saved so many lives so far he was a hero at least a hundred times over, but it was a lonely life. It seemed like every time his brother made a friend, that person left town, died or learned what they did and started treating his brother like either a nutcase or a freak. Dean didn't deserve either one, and now it looked like Mike would be joining the club, right behind George.

Sam leaned back, shutting his eyes, imagining the fallout in the weeks to come. Assuming, you know, that they made it to tomorrow.


	15. Chapter 15

My apologies for the wait! Thanks to everyone following this fic and those who take the time to leave reviews. Really appreciate it! Also a big thanks to _**hotshow **_who always has time to read a new chapter, comment on it, and send me pages of emails with suggestions on the next chapter. LOL!! Thanks again, H!

**Chapter 15**

George watched the kitchen nervously out of the corner of his eye. Dean barely let him close enough to apply the butterfly closures to stop the bleeding. Well, mostly stop the bleeding. He added a layer of clean gauze with tape to hold it in place as Dean jerked his head out of George's hands.

Frustrated, George stepped back. He could only hope he would find an ally in Mike or the older guys. This was insane. As much as he liked Dean and Sam, George could not believe this imp and fairy story. That mug exploding though, that was weird.

The idea that his aunt and uncle, Birdie and Marty, wouldn't question any of it crossed his mind. George tried to discount that, telling himself the same thing his mother said all the time, that his aunt and uncle were nutty as a fruitcake. He still wondered what she meant by that – fruitcakes didn't have nuts. Usually. Mostly just that weird candied fruit.

He stepped back until he felt the solid wall behind him again. George felt safer this way, regardless of what things might be in the room. Oh, God, he actually admitted there might be things. He was going to be as crazy as his aunt and uncle soon.

"Dean?" Bobby led the others out of the kitchen. "What did you put in that mug, to bait the imp?"

George saw Dean focus on Mike as he answered, "Just a couple of stones I found in your cabinet."

"My special goods cabinet?" Bobby asked, pushing his cap back a little. Dean nodded. "Dean, everything in there is because it has some kind of supernatural significance."

"Nice work, Dean," Sam grumbled. Dean kicked his brother's leg.

"Do you remember which stones you used?" Bobby asked, moving over to inspect the cabinet.

Dean shrugged, glancing at Mike again. "A red one like a ruby and a pretty white one."

Sam looked over at his brother, mouthed the word 'pretty.' Dean shoved Sam using his shoulder. Bobby frowned and scratched his jaw. "The ruby and the opal, huh? I can't imagine what it would want with those. Then again," Bobby moved around to his desk, "I never did find out what was so darned special about that opal."

"Except it was pretty?" Sam asked, voice dripping with derision.

Dean stood, glaring down at his brother. "Well it was. When you looked at it, it looked like there was this little flame on the inside. I never saw anything like it." He shrugged. "I figured the imp might like it."

"A fire opal?" Mike asked. "Aren't there stories about fire opals?"

Mike sounded calm and sure, like all of this crap made perfect sense. Then again, the poor guy could just be in shock that his partner believed all this crap, too. George decided he needed to get Mike aside to talk to him, find out what was going on. Maybe Mike had a plan to get them out of here.

"I never noticed it was a fire opal," Bobby said, giving Dean an odd stare. "Well, that might explain it."

"Explain what, Bobby?" Sam asked, moving as if to stand. Dean's hand on his brother's shoulder and a sharp look kept Sam on the couch.

"The fire opal has inherent powers that the imp could use to not only break out of any container, but pass the wards and charms on this house," Bobby explained.

Sam glared up at his brother. "Nice one, Dean."

Dean seemed to close in on himself as he shrugged. "So what do we do, Bobby?" His voice did not carry the confidence it usually did. It was strange to see Dean like this, sounding and looking so much like a little boy.

"Well, assuming it was a fire opal and not just some cursed jewel, I'd say our best bet is to get a black opal. It'll cancel out the powers of the fire opal," Bobby explained. When Bobby's gaze shifted to George, he felt himself squirm. "And I have a pretty good idea where to find one."

George heaved a sigh. "Don't tell me."

Bobby nodded. "I'm pretty sure I found one for Birdie a couple of years ago. She still have it?"

George shrugged. "No idea, and they're out of town visiting Uncle Marty's brother in Pennsylvania."

"Got a key?" Dean asked, eyeing him.

-------

Mike glared at Reid as he stood outside George's aunt and uncle's house. He was trying to keep track of how many laws they were breaking, for the hearing. There would undoubtedly be a hearing later, after someone caught them.

"It's not like Marty will press charges," Reid whispered.

Mike shot his partner another glare over Dean's back. "Got it," Dean said, opening the door. "You two gonna keep watch out here?"

Reid responded with a short nod. Dean paused before going in, trying to make eye contact with him. Mike finally, grudgingly, met Dean's gaze. "Yeah," he answered, "we'll be here."

Dean gave him a lop-sided smile before going in, but Mike did not have the heart to return it. What he really wanted was some alone time with his partner. George looked distinctly uncomfortable following Dean, Sam and Bobby inside.

"I don't suppose, uh, you two might need, um," George glanced around. "Another set of eyes?"

Reid shook his head. "Besides, the place belongs to your family. You ought to be going in. If your aunt and uncle have ever said you're welcome anytime, then it can be argued that this isn't trespassing."

George heaved a deep breath before stepping over the threshold. "Can't believe…"

Mike waited until the others were out of earshot. "Me either. Reid, how the hell could you keep this from me?"

Reid's eyes moved away, staring out over the neighborhood. "I hope no one thinks something is going on here."

"Why?" Mike demanded. "Because two of the ten cops in town are standing guard? Gee, why would anyone think something is up?"

Reid snorted. "Sarcasm doesn't become you, rookie. Been hanging with Dean too much."

Mike scowled. "Or maybe not enough."

Reid did look at him then. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, if I hung out with Dean more," Mike reasoned, "he might have told me about what he does. I tried asking him once, and he gave me some hokey answer so I figured whatever he did must be borderline illegal."

"It is," Reid agreed. "So, even knowing that much, you were already willing to look the other way?"

Mike shrugged. "I figured I'd take the military view on it. Don't ask, don't tell."

Reid nodded. "I started out that way. There's a lot of their kind of stuff that happens out here. It's one of the reasons Bobby lives here."

"Uh-huh." Mike glared, waiting for his partner to explain over a year's worth of omissions. "And back when I first met Dean and his brother? The rabid mountain lion?"

Reid nodded. "It wasn't a mountain lion, you're right." He chewed his lower lip before continuing. "I guess you want to know why I didn't tell ya, huh?"

Mike didn't move, just continued glaring.

"I don't want you doing it." Reid said.

Mike waited, but his partner did not offer anything else. "Meaning?"

Reid looked down, rubbed a patent leather shoe across Marty's front porch. He raised his head, making eye contact. "There's a high mortality rate in that business. Being a cop is bad enough."

Mike felt his eyebrows lift. "Excuse me? You were protecting me from it?" That was so not what he expected.

"The guy I hired before you," Reid said softly, "he was a hunter. Like them." He nodded toward the house. "Lasted about six months on the job. I figured he finally ran out of luck."

Mike's eyes narrowed. "Well, this actually explains some of the stranger questions you asked me during that informal interview."

Reid did not smile. "I'm still hoping you won't do it, that you'll stay dedicated to this job."

"You mean, that I won't push my luck?" Mike said, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"Basically," Reid replied, his eyes drifting out over the street again.

Mike considered that. An hour ago he was blissfully ignorant of Dean's occupation, and now he wanted nothing more than to know all about it. The attraction of hunting things that went bump in the night was strong, far stronger than he might have suspected. Then again, he had a commitment to this community, to the people who lived here. If it was a hotbed of activity for supernatural creatures, though, he just might be able to learn about it on his own while sticking close.

"I'll think about it," Mike promised. He noted that Reid did not look particularly pleased with his answer. Tough.

-----------

Sam wondered where Birdie might put a supernatural black opal. He wondered if that statement would sound as stupid out loud as it did in his head. Probably worse, he decided, rounding a corner.

Pushing open the next door, Sam noted it was an empty room. Curious, Sam stepped inside. Benches lined the other three walls and there was a raised platform in the middle of the room. He approached, curiosity peaked. The raised platform was hollow and filled with water. Sam laughed. "A steam room? Man, I wouldn't have thought that."

Shaking his head, Sam turned around to leave. Dean had been reluctant to separate, but Sam had insisted that he was not dizzy and they would cover more ground faster by splitting up. It took a few minutes, but eventually he wore Dean down. He usually did. Just before he could pass the door, it swung closed. Funny, he did not feel a draft. Sam grasped the doorknob. It would not turn.

Confused, Sam pulled back on the door. It did not budge and the doorknob was frozen in place. "Hey!" Sam beat on the door from the inside. "I'm locked in! Dean! Dean!"

A hissing noise caught his attention. Sam paused in his pounding to look around. Nothing seemed out of place. He continued to beat on the door and call for his brother.

"Sam?" Dean's voice came from the other side. "What's going on?"

"The door closed. I'm locked in!" Sam shouted.

"Hang on! Back in a minute!" Dean shouted back.

"No problem!" Sam called, leaning against the door.

That hissing sound grew louder. Slightly concerned, Sam moved away from the door to investigate. It was a little warm in here. Was it warmer than when he came in, or did it just seem that way with the door closed? He moved around the room trying to locate the source of the sound. Sam was drawn to the center of the room. He glanced casually into the water source. It was boiling.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, moving away from it as though it would burn him. He reflected that it could as he stepped close to the door. "Dean! Dean!" Sam pounded on the door again.

"What, Sam!" Dean demanded from the other side. "I'm trying to find something to open the door."

"Just kick it in!" Sam demanded. "Now!"

There was a pause before Dean asked, "Why Sam?"

"It's a sauna!" Sam shouted.

"So?"

"So it's on!" Sam heard his voice rise in pitch. Since when was he afraid of small rooms full of steam? Honestly, he did not know but he had a better appreciation of Dean's unwillingness to board planes now.

"And?"

"And I want out! Kick it in, Dean!" Sam demanded, pounding on the door.

"Fine. Stand back!"

Sam moved to the side, keeping his back pressed against the wall. Steam rose into the air from the center of the room, filling him with dread as he felt sweat collect on his brow. He heard a dull thud and looked expectantly at the door. Nothing. It didn't even budge. There was another thud.

"Ow! Damn it!"

Muffled sounds of something hitting the wall came through. "Dean?" Sam called out. "Something wrong?"

"Uh, hang on, Sammy. I'll be right back."

"Dean!" he had to refrain from screaming. "Why didn't you kick it in?"

"I can't, okay?" Dean sounded disgusted. Great. From the tone it sounded like it would be at least a week of Dean abusing his own ego. Oh crap, he forgot. Dean probably couldn't kick it in with cracked ribs, could he? "Now hang on, I'll be right back."

"Dean!" Sam shouted, desperate.

"Damn it, Sam! I can't get something to knock in the door unless you let me move more than a foot away! So shut up!"

Sam clamped his mouth shut as the temperature, and his panic, rose. He tried closing his eyes, thinking of happy thoughts. That didn't work. He tried thinking cool thoughts, snowy winter days and long drives through the Midwest in the fall, but through it all he could hear that sinister hiss and knew, beyond a doubt, the imp had a new recipe for disaster. The damn thing wanted to cook him, and it wanted him well-done.


	16. Chapter 16

Okay, as promised, I didn't keep you all hanging forever with that last cliffhanger. Thanks to everyone following this story and those of you generous enough to leave a review. Hotshow and I really appreciate it!!

**Chapter 16**

Dean raced through the house, eyes sharp for something that could bust in a door. He spotted an endtable that might work. He grabbed it, intending to carry it into the hall, and his abused ribs chose that exact moment to not just make themselves known, but scream, jump up and down, and paralyze him with pain.

"Dean?" Bobby's voice broke through the wall of pain as strong hands lifted him off the floor.

He blinked through the haze covering his vision. "Bobby, Sam's trapped. Steam room."

"Steam room?" Bobby groaned. "Leave it to Marty." He pulled Dean to his feet. Dean gasped as pain rolled over him again, causing his vision to swim.

"Did you try picking that up?" Bobby demanded, pointing out the heavy endtable.

"Figured, break down, door," Dean gasped.

Bobby shook his head, heading for the kitchen. "Wait there, I'll be right back."

Dean had no intention of waiting there, but when Bobby returned he was still in the same spot, same position. Damn it. Bobby carried two fire extinguishers, held one out to him. Dean took it, following on Bobby's heels. "Here," he said, motioning to the correct door.

"Sam!" Dean shouted, pounding on the door. "You ready?"

"Just break it in already!" Sam shouted back. Dean heard the underlying panic in Sam's voice and wondered at it. Sam was not the type to panic. With a nod to Bobby, they attacked the doorknob in turns with the fire extinguishers. By the third hit, Dean's side felt like it was on fire and he saw double. His lungs no longer contained air. Pushing the sensation aside, Dean forced a deep breath in and threw his whole body behind the next blow.

Bobby pushed against the door, but it still didn't budge. "Dean!" Sam shouted from inside the room. "What's wrong?"

"Damn it." Dean leaned against the opposite wall, eyeing the door. "Bobby, get ready to carry me to the car."

"What?"

Dean lunged at the door. His right shoulder connected and he felt the doorframe give way, splintering under his force and weight. His fall was stopped by the floor, nice of it. Little flares of light danced in his vision, obscuring Sam, the room, or anything else that might be in there. Damp, wet heat assaulted his face, making breathing damn near impossible.

"Dean!" Sam's voice. Well, at least his little brother was all right. Stupid imp. He felt someone pulling on his left arm.

"No!" he gasped, laboriously rolling onto his back. Dean had to stare for a moment before Sam's sweat-soaked face came into view. He held up his right hand. Sam took it, pulled him up. Forcing air in and out, ignoring the screams from his body, Dean managed a smile at Sam. "Look a little underdone there, Sammy."

Sam leaned with his back against the wall, shaking his head. "Not funny, Dean."

"Sure it was," Dean grunted, his right hand going to his side as he stood on his own. "We'd better find that opal quick. Another one of those might kill me."

He noticed Sam's eyes widen at that. Dean shot him a look and Sam turned away, following Bobby. Dean followed a few paces behind, unable to think about anything except how nice a soft bed would feel about now.

"Dean?" Sam's voice penetrated through his thoughts. "You all right, man?"

Dean stared at his brother a moment before answering. "Uh, yeah. Yeah. Why?"

"Bobby asked if you had any ideas on more places to look," Sam replied, his eyes scouring Dean's face.

Dean frowned at the attention. There were more important things to worry about than him. He glanced over to Bobby. "You check Birdie's jewelry box? Chicks like to wear stuff like that."

Bobby appeared thoughtful. "Now that's an idea." He pointed down the hall. "I think their room is at the back."

"It is." George approached them from behind. "Why? What's going on?"

Dean did not even try to hide the scowl on his face at George's voice. If he had time, he might wonder about what Mike must be thinking, but he didn't have that kind of time. George, however, was being an ass. "Nevermind," Dean snarled, moving to follow Bobby.

"Dean? What's wrong? Something happen to your side?" George asked. The guy even sounded worried. Gee, wasn't that nice of him?

"He had to bust down the door to the sauna," Bobby said, turning around. "Sam was locked in."

George's hand flew to his hurt side. Dean pulled back, gritting his teeth, telling George with his eyes to back the hell off.

"You two go ahead," George waved Bobby and Sam off, "I need to check on Dean."

Sam moved closer. "Why? You think he might be hurt worse? What could be wrong?" His brother sounded a little stressed.

"Go on," Dean snapped. "Let this mother hen take care of it. You'll get your turn later." Sam glared at him a moment, lips pressed tightly together, before giving a short nod and following Bobby. Dean waited until they were out of sight in the furthest room down the hall before leaning back against the wall. "I felt something snap," he confessed to George to in a low voice.

George frowned. "Where?"

Dean lifted his shirt, motioning in the general area. He felt George poke and prod, but his fingers were gentle despite the pain they were causing. George let out a deep sigh. "Well, without x-rays, I'd have to say at least one of those cracked ribs is broken now. I don't think they've moved out of place, but…"

Dean groaned, pulling his shirt back down. "But what?"

George leveled a hard stare on him. "You can't go knocking down doors like that. You could drive a broken rib into a lung, or maybe cause something even worse."

"Thank you Florence," Dean snapped, intending to walk away. George grabbed him by the shoulder.

"Wait. Dean. I, uh…" He heard George take in a deep breath. Dean glanced over his shoulder, waiting. "I'm still worried."

"You should be," Dean stated. "It's here." With that he left George standing in the hall. When he reached the far bedroom where Bobby and Sam searched, Dean looked back. "Don't tell me you want to stay out here by yourself?"

George blanched at the suggestion, hurried footsteps coming to meet him. Dean grinned as George slipped by him into the bedroom. Well, if he had to be honest, George was coping better than most. But what was up with Mike? Now that guy was really being weird. Dean didn't know what to make of it.

---------

George entered his aunt and uncle's bedroom, one place he never wanted to be. He still thought of them as belonging in a 60's sitcom, with separate twin beds. But there it was, that huge feather bed with the creaky springs. Every time he slept over here as a kid, he would hear those springs in the middle of the night. The one time he mentioned it to his parents, when he was about ten, his father started laughing and his mother turned beet-red and told him not to worry about it. He figured it out a few years later, but not until after he made the mistake of going to listen at their bedroom door in the dead of night. George shuddered again at the thought.

Trying to take his mind off past mistakes, George focused on the task at hand. They wanted a black opal Bobby sold to Aunt Birdie a few years ago. Fine. If that would cure some of this nonsense, George was all for it. Once everyone could relax about this supposed imp, maybe he would be able to get Dean back in for additional x-rays. He didn't say anything, but he was pretty sure one of the ribs had moved out of place. Even with the pain killers, Dean had to be in serious pain.

George swept both brother's with his practiced eye. Sam was unfocused and covered in sweat, the latter attributable to the steam room, but clearly still suffering the aftereffects of that blow to the head. Wayne was going to have his ass for participating in this madness when Sam ought to be recuperating in the hospital. A thin sheen of sweat was apparent on Dean's face now too, and his cheeks were flush. Perfect. Even Bobby looked the worse for wear with his torn and stained clothes. The three of them looked like they just came out on the wrong end of a car wreck. Now, that might be a good excuse.

With a shake of the head, George chastised himself for wanting to come up with believable excuses. Like any of this was real! He knew better, he told himself. He did. He knew better. But where would Aunt Birdie put a special black opal she had never shown the family? Or had she? George tried to think back, to remember any new stones or jewelry his aunt may have flashed in the past couple of years, but he drew a blank. Instead, he rooted through her dresser drawers, desperately hoping everything she owned in there was age appropriate.

--------

Bobby stepped back from his fruitless search to survey the room again. Birdie had a black opal, a special one. She knew it was special because she had requested it specifically. Now where would she keep it? The black opal was supposed to have not protective properties but the ability to render other supernatural abilities inert. In short, it protected by short-circuiting anything someone else might use against her. It would make their house wards and charms ineffective as well. Bobby frowned, scratching his chin. If he were Marty and Birdie, he wouldn't keep something like that in the house. As he recalled, Bobby told them that at the time and Birdie said something about already having plans for it.

What plans could Birdie have? "It can't be in the house," Bobby announced, standing in the middle of the room.

"Why do you say that, Bobby?" Sam asked, turning rather dull eyes on him. Sam hadn't really looked like himself since Bobby came back. Well, nasty blows to the head could do that.

"The black opal would negate all the charms and wards Marty and Birdie have on the house." He frowned, concentrating. "But if they used it as barrier, so things couldn't get inside the house…"

"Then it's not working," Dean interrupted. "The imp already locked Sam in the steam room."

"Last resort," George said suddenly. His face lit up. "I know where it is!" George bolted from the room.

Bobby motioned to the Winchester boys to follow, intending to bring up the rear. Neither of them bothered to argue with him, which was a little odd. Guess it showed how beat those boys were. He noticed Sam giving Dean a look that might be called sympathetic. Dean responded with an expression that could be called anything but sympathetic. Sam pushed on Dean's shoulder, nodded at George's back. Dean rolled his head before nodding. Bobby hated watching these silent conversations. If he could at least follow half of it he wouldn't mind so much. Dean and Sam were actually worse than Reid and Mike, he realized. If Reid and Mike were still partners in ten years, they might approach the level of wordless conversation of the brothers. Or not.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

George rushed to lead Sam and Dean back to the main room. Dean's last words to him about needing to be worried because of the imp echoed in his mind. At first it made him feel guilty that Dean might think the only thing he worried about was some mythical creature attacking and not Dean's injuries. At the moment, he was far more worried about Dean's ribs and Sam's probable concussion. Watching the three men search his aunt and uncle's room was a revelation; they were all concerned only with this imp-thing. As he stepped into the main room looking up, George decided not to take offense to Dean's comment. It was probably what Sam always said, just Dean being Dean.

They needed to wrap this up quickly so he could get both brothers back to the hospital and thoroughly checked out. If it was true that Brad Wayne knew about this stuff, and even worse believed it, at least he might not have to worry about Brad reporting him to the hospital administration for negligence or endangering patients.

"Right here," George pointed to the ceiling.

"Right where?" Dean asked, standing directly under the spot where George pointed.

"It's their last resort. Aunt Birdie showed it to me last year at New Year's." Sam gave him a funny look. George shrugged. "Birdie can't handle her wine."

"So?" Dean demanded.

George motioned to a light switch on the wall then to the ceiling.

The intense expression Dean sported the whole way here dropped, replaced by disbelief. "Oh, you gotta be kidding me?" George shook his head. "Sam?" Dean turned around. "Time for a new plan."

--------

Sam resisted reaching out and throwing one of Birdie's knickknacks at his brother's head. New plan, huh? Yeah, right. He probably had a concussion, Dean had cracked and possibly broken ribs, Bobby was beat to hell, and they had a civilian and two cops. Well, at least the cops appeared willing and in good shape. He could use that.

"Dean, go get Reid and Mike. We're going to need them. And something to keep the imp in after we trap it."

"Uh, Sammy? Forgetting something?" Dean asked, one eyebrow up in that irritating manner his brother had whenever Dean assumed he forgot something.

"One thing at a time, Dean. It'll be the perfect way to find out if your theory about the gremlin is right," Sam replied, trying to keep his cool. He had to keep Dean's injuries in mind while he decided on a plan. That always made things so much harder. Dean was perfect bait, usually. Not today, Sam promised himself, Dean would not be the bait today.

"Fine." Dean headed to the front door. Sam waited, patiently he thought, until his brother returned with both cops. "Uh, Sam?"

Sam glanced over. Dean's expression clearly asked if something was wrong. Sam gave a slight shake of his head, there was nothing wrong in addition to their present situation. Dean looked pointedly down. Sam followed his brother's gaze. His hand rapped repeatedly on the endtable. Funny, he had not even noticed the noise, much less the fact he caused it. Sam clenched his hands into fists to stop the unconscious action, shooting Dean a glare. Dean shrugged, it wasn't his fault. Sam rolled his eyes, he knew it wasn't Dean's fault exactly, but he was certain he was doing it because he was worried about Dean. So, technically, that made it Dean's fault. Sam threw a glare back, which made Dean chuckle and shake his head. His brother was freaking impossible.

Bobby cleared his throat. "Sam? Got a plan yet?"

"Got something to keep the imp in yet, Bobby?" he shot back.

"We'll find something Sam," Dean cut in, motioning to the couch. "Bobby and I will be back in a minute." Dean shot Bobby a look and tilted his head toward the kitchen. Sam suspected they just wanted to talk about him, but he didn't have the energy to chase them down and confront them. If he had to be honest with himself, Sam did not have the energy to find a container for the imp, either.

He sank down into the couch. It was surprisingly comfortable considering the awful floral pattern. Sam leaned back, closing his eyes. He had to come up with something that Dean would agree to and keep his brother out of the line of fire. Easier said than done, Sam knew from experience.

If the opal was rigged to lower into the main room here in case of extreme emergencies, or as a last resort situation, then they needed to get the imp into the room and trap it here.

"George?" Sam asked with his eyes still closed. "How long will it take?"

"No idea."

Sam nodded against the couch. "We're going to need some flour, George," he said. Sam waited until he heard the man's footsteps leave the room. He cracked his eyes open. Reid and Mike stared at him.

"You do have a plan?" Reid asked.

Sam sighed. "Sure. Get the imp in here, lower the opal to take away all its powers, and trap it."

"Is it really that simple?" Mike asked.

Sam reached up to rub fingers over the top of his head, being careful to avoid the gash in back. "Never," he admitted.

Reid stepped forward to sit on the arm of the couch. "I take it you're worried about Dean doing something foolish?"

Sam shook his head. "Nope. Not at all. I'm worried about him doing something stupid."

Mike snorted. "How about if I stick close to Dean? Keep an eye on him for you?"

Sam stared at Mike for a moment. "You're certainly taking all this well. Really well." He frowned. "That's not exactly normal."

Mike shot a quick glare at Reid before turning back to Sam. "Well, lots of things aren't exactly normal, Sam. You and Dean don't corner the market on that." Then an odd smile crossed Mike's face. "But hanging with you two makes it a little more fun."

A short barking laugh escaped from Sam. "Yeah, okay. Maybe you deserve to have Dean as a friend."

Mike grinned. "Thanks."

Sam shook his head. "That wasn't exactly a compliment."

"I know." Mike winked as Reid chuckled. Reid cleared his throat. Sam's gaze shot toward the kitchen where George, Bobby and Dean headed toward him. Dean had his hunting face on and held a rooster cookie jar in one hand.

"Seriously?" Sam asked, motioning to the cookie jar.

"It was the only thing made from natural elements that we could find. Birdie really likes stainless steel," Dean said with a shrug.

"Isn't that an element?" George asked, setting a clear plastic container holding a white substance on the coffee table.

"It's refined," Sam explained. "Ceramic will work better. George, why don't you start lining all the doorways with the flour? If you have enough left over, make a big circle around us underneath where the opal should be."

"Ah, Sam?" Dean asked. Once again he used that irritating 'you forgot something' tone.

"What, Dean?" Sam demanded, pushing himself up to stand so he could tower over his big brother. Okay, maybe it was stupid, and it never worked, but Sam always felt like it gave him an edge.

"Well, shouldn't we make sure the opal really is there?" Dean asked, looking up at the ceiling.

Sam followed Dean's gaze. "Oh. Yeah." That would be a good idea. Why didn't he think of that? "George, hit it." Sam motioned to the switch.

George headed to the wall and flipped the switch. At first nothing happened, but then a whirring sound came from the ceiling. Dean pulled him back, out of the way. It might have irritated Sam, but he liked seeing Dean's protective, big-brother side coming out. It was all he could do not to let a big, goofy grin cover his face. Beaten, bruised and possibly broken, but his big brother was back!

A portion of the ceiling lowered into the room. When it reached eye level, Sam could see a box there. He flipped it open to reveal white satin with a large black ball in the center. A low whistle came from his left and Dean's hand reached into the box. His brother picked it up.

"Cool." Dean said as he examined it. "It has a cold flame in it."

"Cold flame?" Bobby asked, taking it from Dean. "What do you…oh. Huh. Never noticed that before."

"What?" Sam held out his hand. Bobby dropped the dark stone into his hand. Sam peered down at it. Just like Dean said, there was a blinking shimmer in the center similar to a flame. A cold flame. He held it up to the light and the flame shimmered with the iridescence of the rainbow. "Very cool." Sam dropped it back inside the box, motioned to George. George flipped the switch the other way and the box lifted into the ceiling.

Sam sat back down on the couch. "Now all we have to do is wait for it." He pointed out where George needed to lay the lines of flour.

"That's your plan?" Dean demanded, looking stricken. "Sammy, I could have come up with that."

Sam shrugged. "If you have a better idea, say so, Dean."

Dean blew out a breath. "Great." He took a seat opposite Sam, pulling out his gun. "Just great."

"Seriously, Dean," Sam started to feel just a touch irritated, "if you have any better ideas, I'm sure we'd all like to hear them."

Dean shook his head, checking his clip. "College boy," Sam was certain he heard his brother mumble.

"You got something to say, Dean?" Sam demanded, suddenly struck with an idea.

Dean glanced up, surprise clear in his eyes. "What?"

Sam pushed off the couch to stand again. "Come on, Dean!" Come on, follow my lead, Big Brother. "You just can't let that go, can you? But I don't see you coming up with any better ideas!"

Dean looked startled for an instant, but only an instant. "Like I said, I could have come up with that stupid idea!"

Dean called him stupid? Oh yeah, Big Brother was back in force! "Stupid? Stupid idea?"

"That's what I said!" Dean snarled, leaning in close.

Sam gave his brother a shove in the shoulder, careful to stick with the uninjured side. "You wanna back that up?"

"Uh? Guys?" Mike's voice was barely discernable in the background.

Sam watched Dean's eyes dart down and that quick tick on one side of his mouth. The imp was here, watching them. "Well?" Sam demanded, moving under the opal.

Dean followed, standing close to Sam. He didn't know whether it was to protect him from the imp or for show, but either way Sam felt relieved by it. "Yeah, I'll back that up," Dean said in a low voice that, if Sam believed it, would send shivers down in his spine. As it was, he didn't feel entirely comfortable on the receiving end. He took another step back.

"How?" Sam demanded, eyes tracking the tiny white footprints nearing them. It was within the inner circle now, directly under the opal. While Sam appeared to command Dean's attention, he saw his brother motion to George.

As the whirring sound came from the ceiling, Dean's face took on a snarl usually reserved for complete jerks in dark bars. "What's wrong, Sammy? Can't use your imagination for that either?"

"You know what? That's enough, Dean!" Sam flung an arm into the air. "I've had it up to here with you and your stupid threats, stupid ideas, and loose women!"

"Loose women?" The snarl dropped for an instant and Sam feared Dean might start laughing, but his brother recovered quickly. "Dude, I offered to share just that one time. I won't make that mistake again!" Dean leaned into his face, prodding his shoulder with one strong finger.

"Mistake? Like I would have anything to do with one of your airhead, drunk bimbos!" Sam snapped back while attempting to inconspicuously watch the tiny white prints. The box was a little over halfway down. What else could he say to keep this going? Dean didn't seem to have a comeback for the bimbo line. "And don't get me started on your car!"

"My car?" Dean's irritation melted into stricken, as though Dad had just popped up and announced he died again and oh, Dean, one more little thing you need to do…

"I mean, how stupid is it for us to drive around in such a recognizable vehicle? We should have ditched it long ago."

"Dude." Dean's eyes went wide. "Don't even joke!" Then the fury from earlier returned. "That's MY car you're talking about!" Dean leaned forward, getting in his face again, but Sam noticed his brother glance up to check on the opal. Nearly there. "You'll go before it does!"

"Oh, really?" Sam crossed his arms over his chest. "Was that a threat?"

"No." Dean's face went cold and emotionless. "A promise." Just when Sam thought his brother might be serious, Dean reached up and flipped open the box.

"Now, George!" Sam shouted as Dean dropped the opal on the floor. White flour soared through the air, covering everyone and everything in a fine dusting. He and Dean were at ground zero, however, so Dean's face and probably his had a nice thick coating. Dean puffed a couple of times, blinking furiously to get it out of his eyes.

"There it is!" Mike shouted. Sam heard the scuffle more than he saw it; Mike, Reid and Bobby scrambling along the floor after a powder-white tiny figure. Bobby grabbed the rooster cookie jar as Reid and Mike worked as a unit to get the imp into it.

After Bobby successfully trapped the imp inside the rooster and applied some duct tape he conveniently found in the kitchen, Sam grinned at Dean. "See? Nothing to it."

"My car?" Dean asked with that stricken look again.

"Uh, uh, I didn't really, I mean… Dean, honest, I would never…" Sam fumbled for the words to set things right.

Dean's face blossomed into a full blown grin. "Dude, you are way too easy. Speaking of easy, when are we gonna hit that pool hall on the far side of town? Dude, there was that chick with the boots that came up to here." Dean motioned to his thigh. "Remember her?"

"And her boyfriend, a member of that biker gang. Dean, the last thing you need right now is to get into a fight," Sam heard himself pleading.

Dean rolled his eyes. "See George? You're not the only mother hen around here."

* * *

Okay folks, Dean and Sam will be taking a little break during November. November is National Novel Writing Month, or NaNoWriMo to those "in the know." I will be attempting to write 50k in 30 days of an original fiction story, so there will be very little time, if any, for fanfics. My goal was to finish this story by the end of October, but alas, it was not meant to be. I promise not to leave you hanging at the end of the month with an evil cliffhanger – honest! I have more adventure planned in this story when it comes back in December, with lots of potential for brotherly angst, affection and whumpage. The last update before Nano will be next week. 


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

As Dean looked over the powdered white people in the room all staring worriedly down at a ceramic rooster, he could not help the laugh that escaped him. The scene was too surreal, too funny. It was a mistake, however, as the action caused flames of pain to erupt from his battered side and dark spots to dance in his vision. When his vision cleared he found himself on Birdie's couch with Sam hovering over him shaking his shoulders.

"Dean? Dean?"

"What Sam?" he asked, blinking away the haze from his vision.

"Dean?" George shoved Sam away, earning a scowl from Dean. "Do you have those pain pills on you?"

Dean shook his head. "In the car." That had been on purpose. The temptation to keep popping them had been strong and he did not need his mind clouded from too much medication while Sam was in danger. Besides, they had no idea if Sammy was really out of danger yet. There still might be a gremlin waiting for them outside.

He heard voices and was pretty sure they were discussing him, but Dean couldn't quite make out the words. He pushed himself to standing. "We should get to the hospital," he said.

"We were just talking about that, Dean. Come on, man," he felt Sam's hand on his arm, "why don't you take it easy?"

Dean glared, shaking off Sam. "Sam, we need to get your head checked out. Come on, let's go. I'm driving."

"Dean," Sam blocked his way, "you look like you're about to pass out. Now, unless you want to go to the hospital in an ambulance, you're going to let Mike drive."

Let Mike drive? Dean's eyes flitted from Sam to George to Bobby to Mike and Reid, then back to Sam. They all appeared ready to wrestle him down and tie him up. Great. But if he had to be absolutely honest with himself, something he normally tried to avoid at all costs, driving would be just a little more than he should do right now. George didn't hear or feel the way his ribs popped when he hit that sauna door. He was pretty sure there were at least two broken now.

"Fine," he sighed, handing over his keys to Mike. "Let's just get going before that gremlin decides to come back."

"I thought it would go away after we got the imp?" Reid asked.

"We can't know that for sure," Bobby said. The man looked like he might grab Dean's other arm any second. Dean shuffled back a step, the couch hit his calves with enough force to send him toppling backwards. He landed with a soft thump on Birdie's couch, those flames of pain shooting through his side. Strange how with the immediate danger to Sam from the imp gone, his ribs felt so much worse. When Dean could open his eyes again, he found everyone hovering over him. Yeah, this day couldn't get much worse, could it?

--------

Mike felt a pang of sympathy for Dean. The man looked dazed and vulnerable sitting on George's aunt's couch with that glazed expression. Plus Dean actually looked worse than he did when they first arrived. Had something happened in the house before they managed to trap the imp?

"Come on," Mike reached out to pull Dean off the couch. He noticed Sam grabbing Dean's other arm. His friend squirmed in their collective grasp, but Mike held on until Dean was standing. Dean shot him a glare, which Mike ignored. He simply dangled the keys in Dean's face. "Unless you trust me with your baby outside of your supervision?"

Dean snarled. "Not on your life."

Mike resisted grinning at that. "Then come on." He headed for the door, hoping the brothers were behind him. It had been a toss-up whether George or Bobby would ride in the Impala with them. In the end they decided to see how agitated Dean was; if Dean was aggravated Bobby would ride in the Impala, if Dean was more complacent then George would in order to keep a medical eye on both men.

He held the door open for Sam to lead Dean through. Instead, Sam shoved Dean through the door. He always noticed Dean was a little protective of his younger brother, but Mike had never appreciated the fact it clearly went both ways. Until now. Sam steered Dean to the car, where Dean shook off his brother's hands to sit in the passenger seat. Sam glared through the window, clearly agitated, before clambering into the backseat.

"Uh, Bobby?" Mike asked as he headed toward the driver's seat. "Care to join us?"

"No problem. See ya there, George." Bobby threw George a wave as he followed Mike to the Impala.

Mike slid into the driver's seat, grinning at Dean's scowl. If Dean acted happy or relieved, he would be worried. His friend couldn't be too hurt if he was acting normal, Mike reasoned. Regardless he gave Reid their hand signal for lights and followed right behind his partner across town. They reached the hospital with both Dean and Sam frowning at him.

"Uh, Mike?" Sam asked from the backseat. "You do realize we aren't exactly looking for extra attention?"

Mike shrugged. "Deal with it." He squealed to a halt just outside the emergency room. Several people stood watching, no doubt alerted by Reid's sirens. He looked over at Dean and Sam. "What are you two waiting for?"

Dean shook his head as he looked out the window. "I hate hospitals."

"Me too." Sam reached over the seat to grab his brother's shoulder. "Come on, Big Brother. Let's go."

Mike figured if Sam weren't hurt Dean would refuse to get out of the car. As it was, Dean let out a heavy sigh before opening his door. He got out and waited for Sam to do the same. Sam moved a little slower, like he was dizzy. Sam nearly stumbled getting out of the car, but Dean caught him by the arm.

George ran up to the people in hospital garb standing around watching. "We have a head injury, prep that one," he pointed out Sam, "for CT scan and an MRI and call Brad Wayne. I'm taking this one to x-ray. Let's go, Dean."

Mike let himself breathe a little easier now that their friends were getting medical attention. Then he thought of the gremlin. Motion in front of the car caught his attention. Reid waved at him to park and hurry back. "You got Dean!" he shouted as he rushed inside.

Oh. They were going to be bodyguards now. Well, at least he got Dean.

-------

Brad Wayne took the newly repaired stairs at a dead run. He just received a call about Sam Cooper with fresh head trauma. Anyone but Sam, he thought to himself, hadn't the kid been through enough?

When he burst into the area where they had Sam, he felt a sense of relief at how normal Sam looked. However, appearances were often deceiving, and if the expressions on Bobby and Reid's faces were anything to go by he had reason to worry. He motioned for them to wait in the hall.

"Sam? How you doing today?" he asked, trying not to sound out of breath.

"I've been better. How's Dean?" Sam asked, his eyes a bit distant and unfocused.

"Dean's hurt?" Brad asked, pulling out his penlight. "What's wrong with him?"

"Ribs," Sam replied.

When no further explanation was forthcoming, Brad decided to try again. "Are we talking broken or something he ate?" He checked Sam's pupils.

"Knowing Dean, they're broken," Sam said, sounding weary. "Idiot. Doesn't even know when to ignore me."

"Ignore you?" Brad asked, checking the pupils again. At least it did not look like a concussion, that was a relief.

"Yeah, I kinda…" Sam paused for a moment. "I was trapped and I guess I panicked. Dean knocked down the door." He sighed. "His ribs were already cracked."

Brad nodded. That sounded like Dean. "Then they're probably broken."

"Doctor?" A nurse appeared at his elbow. "They are ready for the patient's tests now."

Brad turned to face her. "Go check the status of his brother, Dean Cooper, and have someone bring a chair."

"You're taking him, Doctor Wayne?" the nurse was clearly surprised. Brad resisted scowling at her.

"Yes, I am taking him. Please hurry with the chair," he said calmly, although he felt anything but calm. Sam with a head injury was one of the things that invaded his nightmares. That and Dean pointing a gun at him and snarling something about "I thought you fixed this," while Sam watched cartoons in the background. He felt a shudder run down his spine as he helped Sam into the wheelchair.

"Hurry up checking on Dean Cooper," he snapped at the nurse.

"He's with George," Sam said wearily.

Brad made eye contact with the nurse. "Doctor Schroeder," he clarified.

"Yes, doctor." The nurse hurried away.

"Ready for a couple of tests, Sam?" Brad asked in his most clinical voice as he pushed his patient down the hall.

"Whatever," Sam sighed. "Hey, Doc?"

"Yes, Sam?" Brad tried to keep a steady, even pace and not look like he wanted to run Sam all the way.

"When I had the regressive amnesia, did I really carry that Batman doll everywhere?" he asked.

"Yes you did, Sam," Brad replied, wondering if Dean had been teasing his little brother recently.

"Did you know why it made me feel better?" Sam asked, his speech slurring slightly. That was not a good sign.

"No. Want to tell me, Sam?" Brad asked, stopping in the middle of the hall to check his patient's pupils again. Okay, maybe it could be a concussion.

A grin spread across Sam's face. "Because it reminded me of Dean."

Brad nodded seriously. "I can see where that would make you feel better."

"Where is Dean, Doc? How is he?" Sam asked again.

"Not sure yet, Sam. The nurse will let me know when she finds out," Brad promised. As if she knew her cue, Brad's pager went off with the nurse's station number. Brad waited until they reached the room where they did the CT scan. While they readied Sam, Brad called the nurse's station.

"Sam?" he called out as they settled Sam on the table. "Dean has three broken ribs but other than that he's fine."

Sam lifted his hand in a short wave of recognition as they began the scan. Brad waited anxiously, watching the screen in front of the technician. At first glance, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Relieved, Brad allowed himself to relax a little during the next test, the MRI. Again nothing appeared out of the ordinary initially. He would wait for the final results, but Brad now felt fairly confident in taking Sam to recuperate in the same room as Dean.

"Hey, Dean," Sam called out as his bed was rolled in next to his brother's.

"How you feeling, Sammy?" Dean asked anxiously, sitting further up in bed though Brad knew that had to hurt like the devil.

"S'okay," Sam replied, slurring a little.

Dean shot him a worried glare. "I'm sure it's just a light concussion, nothing to really worry about," he tried to assure Dean. "We'll have the final test results by morning."

Dean nodded, resting back against the bed. "Sam? Need anything while Doc Wayne is still here?" he asked in a clear voice.

"Jus' a lil' sleep," Sam said with a yawn.

Brad hooked the monitoring equipment up to Sam personally, to make sure everything was done properly. He paused by Dean's bed before leaving the room. "He's going to be fine, Dean. Why don't you try to get some sleep, too? You both look like you've been through hell and back."

Dean nodded his head wearily. "You don't know the half of it, Doc." His eyelids drooped heavily. "We just came out here for a little R&R. See if I do that again."

Brad figured Dean was asleep before he stepped out the door, right into the expectant gazes of Bobby, Reid and that new deputy. What was his name?

"How are they, Doc?" Bobby demanded, stepping forward to glance inside the room.

"You can go in whenever you'd like, Bobby. They're both going to be fine. They just need some real recuperation time," Brad explained.

"I thought Dean's ribs were broken?" the deputy demanded.

"So he did break them, huh?" Bobby asked. "Figures, the way he knocked down that door."

"He knocked down a door!" the deputy became indignant. "Nobody thought to call me to do it?"

Bobby stared at the deputy a moment, but was spared answering by Reid. "Easy, rookie. There probably wasn't time to think about it. Right Bobby?"

"Uh, yeah. It happened pretty fast. I mean, I had no idea what the durn fool was going to do until he crashed into the door." Bobby shrugged, like he had no control over the situation. Well, considering who was involved, Brad agreed that Bobby probably had no control what-so-ever.

The rookie glared at Dean's sleeping form through the door. "He and I are going to have a loooong talk about that."

Bobby snorted. "Yeah, good luck with that."

"Oh, I think he'll listen." The rookie tossed some car keys in the air. "If he ever wants to see his precious Impala again." The grin that spread across the young officer's face was so reminiscent of Dean, it sent a shiver down Brad's spine. Where did people like this come from?

"Gentlemen?" Reid stepped between the other two men. "I think what we need to concentrate on is keeping those boys safe and sound long enough to heal up. Ideas, please."

Brad excused himself from the next conversation. He decided he did not want to know how or why Dean and Sam fell back under his care. He usually slept better at night just knowing people like that were out there and not knowing what could be lurking in the dark corners of his house. Even so, Brad typically slept with a heavy metal flashlight on his bedside table and a fresh ring of salt around his bed. You know, just in case.

* * *

Thanks again and again to everyone reading Murphy's Law. The first story, Lil' Sammy, began as a reader request and blossomed into my most popular fic to date. When _**hotshow**_, my intrepid editor, suggested doing another story I leapt at the idea of making it a sequel so I could bring back Mike and George. Now I'm going to give the guys some much needed rest for the month of November, and we can go back to battering them in December! 


	19. Chapter 19

Okay, I'm baaa-aaack!! And so is ML. There are a couple of major loose ends twisting out there that require tying and knotting up into a pretty bow. I really hope you enjoy it. Thanks to everyone for the support during NaNoWriMo!! Really appreciate that!! On with the story…

**Chapter Nineteen**

He was enjoying this too much, but as long as Sam was still willing to do it, Dean was going to take advantage of it. Speaking of which, here came his little brother.

"Hey Dean. Need anything?" Sam asked, hovering over him.

Dean grinned as he looked up. "How about a chili dog?"

Sam groaned, shaking his head. "This late at night? You better be planning to sleep out here on the couch."

Dean made a pained face. "You'd let me sleep out here?" He tried to sound hurt by it.

"No," Sam shot him one of those looks Dad used to use on them, "I'd make you."

"Fine," Dean replied rolling his eyes. "How about something for dessert? Pie?"

Sam shook his head, long hair in front whipping around. As Sam left for the kitchen, Dean wondered for the zillionth time why it didn't bother his brother. He knew if he had something banging into his face like that all the time it would drive him crazy. He wondered if he should suggest a haircut. As Sam leaned over to hand him a slice of pie, Dean was reminded of how much Sam looked like he did when he was a kid. He decided if the long hair did not bother Sam, then he did not need to say anything about it. That was one of the few things in this world that he could count on, that reminded him of when they were just kids.

"Dean?" Sam's voice broke through his reverie. He took the pie from his brother. "Are you feeling okay? Need a pain pill?"

Dean shook his head, carefully shifting up to eat his pie. "Nah, wouldn't help," he admitted before his brain fully engaged.

Sam's fingers dug into his arm. "What? Does it hurt that bad?" Worry and concern filled his little brother's eyes and creased his face into a frown. "Maybe I should call George."

Dean shook his head again. "I'm fine, Sam." When his brother gave him that 'yeah, right' look, Dean added, "Really, Sam. I'm fine." He shoveled some pie into his mouth to avoid any more questions. Sam sent him a glowering look before rushing off into the next room, probably to call George. Again.

Dean wanted to groan about it, but one small part of him enjoyed all this attention. Whether it was good or bad, Sam always got all of Dad's attention when they were kids. It was kind of nice to be the center of it all now. And he got pie.

A faint scratching noise caught his attention. Dean leveraged himself off Bobby's couch, suspicious. There was something familiar about that sound. Holding his pie in one hand, Dean leaned forward to look out the window at Bobby's front door. Nothing. Dean nearly laughed at himself for being so paranoid. It had been weeks since they trapped the imp and nothing more than the usual disappearance of one sock in the dryer had happened.

He cut off a nice hunk of pie and shoved it into his mouth, chewing with his mouth open and hoping Sam would walk in on him right now. This particular disgusting habit annoyed Sam more than anything, even dirty socks in the sink. As he headed back for the couch, he heard another noise from the kitchen. He paused in the kitchen doorway trying to convince himself that it was the wind or just something clanking out in the yard. Eventually his stupid job won out over his desire for some peace and quiet so Dean headed into the kitchen to check it out.

He looked out the door. That area of the salvage yard, complete with Bobby's grill, appeared perfectly normal. As he turned around he glanced at the kitchen window. It looked back at him.

Dean froze, fork halfway to his mouth with another large chunk of pie. He stared at those eyes of bottomless darkness. His brain went into neutral as he just stared. After what felt like years, Dean regained some of his senses and lowered his fork slowly to his plate. Now that he had a free hand, he reached into his back waistband. All he could find was the t-shirt he had tucked in.

"Of all the freaking times to be unarmed," he muttered, careful not to break eye contact with the beast filling Bobby's kitchen window. Dean cleared his throat. When the creature did not react, he tried calling out softly, "Sam." It did not move. Emboldened, Dean tried it again a little louder, "Sam!"

"Oh, now what?" Sam's voice came from the other room. "You want your pillows fluffed, too?"

"Sam!" he hissed, doing his best not to blink.

"Dean?" Sam's big feet gave off clunks as he stomped around the house in his size 32s, or whatever the hell his brother wore. "Where are you?"

Dean motioned through the doorway with his free hand, still hissing, "Sam! Get over here!"

"Dean, why didn't you just call me to…" When Sam's voice broke off, Dean knew his brother saw the gremlin at the window. "Oh, well, that's just great."

"Gun, Sam," Dean prodded.

"You really think it's going to wait for me to go get a gun?" Sam whispered.

Dean forgot about not breaking eye contact as he rolled his eyes. "You're not armed!" he accused. When he remembered and focused on the window again, the nasty face was gone.

"Actually, no, Dean. I'm not armed." Sam strode past to look outside the door. Dean was ready to go haul his brother back before Sam got any smart ideas about going outside by himself, but Sam pulled the door closed. "And obviously neither are you, or you wouldn't have been calling for me."

Dean ground his teeth. This needling of Sam's over the past couple of weeks had really worn thin. "That's because you and Bobby won't let me near any of the weapons." Dean slammed his plate still carrying the last few bites of pie on Bobby's table. It hit the surface with a satisfying clank. "Like I'm useless when I'm hurt!" Dean prodded one finger in Sam's chest. Sam took a step back, so Dean stepped right up into him until Sam was pinned against the wall. "Who has always been there to back you up? Damn it, Sam! I've had broken ribs on hunts, pulled and torn muscles, even a concussion! Have I ever, ever, let you down?" Dean demanded, the words somehow finding their way through his sudden fury.

Sam shook his head, hair pressed against the wall and his eyes pretty damn wide.

"Then why the hell are you assuming I'll let you down now?" he growled softly. When Sam's brows drew together and his forehead creased right in the center, Dean realized that his brother honestly did not get it.

He stepped back, defeated. "Forget it." Dean left the room to grab one of the shotguns Bobby kept out for emergencies. He checked that it was loaded with the iron shot before heading for the door.

"Wait! Dean!" Sam called out as the door swung closed behind him. Dean ignored it, eyes searching in the waning sunlight for something dark, furry, and just plain mean.

-----------

Sam's jaw dropped as his brother turned away, mumbling "Forget it." Dazed, he watched Dean move into the other room to grab one of Bobby's emergency weapons and head for the door. Dean was outside before Sam's brain chose to engage.

"Wait!" Sam held a hand out, a futile gesture to stop Dean since his brother was not looking his way. "Dean!" Through the slamming screen door Sam could see his brother evaluating the house and the lengthening shadows. He raced to grab the other shotgun before following; he would be useless out there unarmed.

Sam ran to his brother's side, senses on full alert for the gremlin. Well, so much for Dean's 'it should disappear when the imp is gone' theory. He wanted to be annoyed that he bought into it in the first place, but it had made sense. It was even logical, though Sam had admitted that only grudgingly. Wasn't it his role to be the smart one, the one who did all the research? Okay, Dean was pretty good on interviews. Not great, mind you. His brother did tend to get carried away sometimes. "No, I mean, really weird?" There were times it was all Sam could do to rein him in. How the hell did Dean survive out there hunting on his own?

As they checked the shadows closest to the house, Sam decided that Dad must have been doing all of Dean's research and just sent his brother in for the kills, the part his brother really liked. After all, Dean seemed pretty comfortable when Dad would send them cryptic messages for a new hunt, and there was usually research or something for them to find, where Dad had already figured it all out for them. No real challenge, which Sam hated.

He felt a pang of guilt at that. Dad was really good at this. Sam knew there were people who had looked at their Dad and just saw this rough guy in need of a good shave who could listen to your car and tell you exactly what it needed. But Dad was smart, just like Dean always said. Dad used to pour his heart and soul into the hunt, researching and tracking things like no one else could. In his own way he was brilliant, and it took him dying for Sam to finally recognize that fact. Now, how screwed up was that?

Okay, so assuming each of them was brilliant in his own way, what was Dean's genius? Flirting? Sam smirked at the thought. Dean got shot down more often than not, but his brother was persistent. That was the reason Dean could usually find 'companionship' when he wanted it. It was also the reason when Dean knew a gal was ready and willing Sam had so much trouble getting his brother to focus on anything else. Thrill of the hunt.

Sam's feet stopped as the realization washed over him. It was the hunt. His eyes flicked over to Dean, who prowled along the wall of the house, fully in hunting mode. Dean's face was set and stern, his eyes focused. The shotgun was carried firmly in an almost nonchalant manner, the easiness belying Dean's skill and confidence. Despite lying around in bed for over two full weeks now, his brother moved with a sureness and strength Sam had not seen in many people and that he always took for granted coming from his brother. He took it for granted. He took his brother for granted. He took his brother hunting for granted, too.

Sam shook it off, forcing his feet to move again, to cover Dean so nothing could hurt his brother. Again. Dean's ribs were still broken, there had not been enough time for a full recovery, and George said all the muscles on that side were bruised and strained but probably not torn. He moved through the shadows cast by a mound of stacked car bodies, the idea of Bobby's salvage yard being where cars went to die echoing in his mind. He would like to smile about that, but his face refused to cooperate.

Attempting to concentrate on the hunt, Sam mirrored his brother's actions until they circled the house. When they came back to the kitchen door, Dean signaled to him. Sam approached warily, expecting either the house siding to come crashing down or a stack of cars to hurtle in their direction.

"What do you think?" Sam asked while trying to cover the roof.

"That we should get back in the house while we can," Dean snapped, motioning to Sam with his shotgun. Sam responded with a short nod as he headed into the house. He covered the door from the inside as Dean backed in.

"Bobby!" Dean shouted, rushing through the house. "Bobby, where are you!"

"Coming!" They heard Bobby's heavy footsteps above them, then feet racing through the hall.

"You don't think…" Sam began, unwilling to really finish that question because he hoped so fervently that it was not true. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dean wince, and it did not look like one of those pain-induced winces he saw so much of lately.

"Oh, I hope not," Dean said softly.

Loud thumps on the stairs foretold Bobby's arrival. When he appeared near the bottom of the stairs he was dripping wet, a towel wrapped around his waist and his baseball cap perched on his wet hair. In his hands he clutched yet another shotgun. Sam wondered how many Bobby had stashed through the house.

Bobby's eyes darted from side to side as his shotgun swept over the whole room. "What's going on?" he demanded.

"You shower with that thing?" Dean motioned to the ballcap on Bobby's head.

"Shut up," Bobby snapped. "What is it?"

"Gremlin's back," Dean said with a sigh. "I guess Sam was right, just getting rid of the imp wasn't enough."

Sam ducked his head, unsure if he wanted credit for being right this time or even if he deserved it. He certainly would have preferred never to see the gremlin again. "Well, I don't know about that, Dean."

"Excuse me," Bobby said, his voice cutting through the room, "unless there's something attacking my house, can I get dressed now?"

"Sure Bobby," Dean waved him off, "we'll keep watch for the gremlin down here."

"Great." Bobby thumped back upstairs.

Dean turned to Sam, grinning wide. "You'd think it would be cleaner if he wears it in the shower."

Sam shook his head, checking his shotgun again. Still loaded. He walked over to the nearest window to peer out. Everything outside still appeared calm. He hoped it was not the calm before the storm, but that was usually the way things happened in their lives.

"So, Sam," Dean spoke from the other side of the house, probably checking the windows over there, "what don't you know about?"

Dean was obviously referring to Sam's earlier statement about the fact Dean might not have been completely wrong. Sam chewed the inside of his cheek, wondering exactly how he should phrase this. "Well, we don't know that you weren't right. You know, mostly."

"Sam," Dean did not sound pissed off, but maybe a little annoyed, "I can admit when I've screwed up. You were right, the gremlin is obviously still after us."

"It isn't a contest, Dean," Sam moved on to another window to peer out at the now dark salvage yard. "Besides, after trapping the imp this is the first time we've seen the gremlin. And it didn't attack."

Dean snorted. "That we know of. It could be out there right now, setting up a something to fall on us, taking out Bobby's car, or even…" Dean gasped.

Sam spun around, imagining he felt the emotion in that gasp. Dean's face paled, his eyes widened, and his head swiveled to face the front door.

"Noooooo," he breathed, breaking into a run.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, racing after his brother. "At least wait for me!"  
Sam darted through the open door right after his brother, grumbling, "I think he loves that car more than life itself."


	20. Chapter 20

Thank you, all you wonderful readers! Yes, it's good to be back and to feel so appreciated. Thanks again to all of you and to my intrepid editor _**hotshow**_, who puts up with my full inbox far more often than she should!

**Chapter Twenty**

Sam flicked on the outdoor flood lights as he raced after Dean. The salvage yard ahead of them was bathed in the stark white light. Dean stopped in front of one of the shorter stacks of cars in Bobby's yard, staring up. Sam imagined the look on Dean's face, mainly because he did not want to see it firsthand. A couple of hours ago this particular stack had not been a stack, it was just a single car waiting to be stacked.

The Impala perched precariously on top of an old Lincoln Continental, rocking gently from back to front. There were no visible signs of damage that Sam could see. He chanced a glance at his brother's face. Dean's cheeks were drained of all color and his face slack. The Impala's rocking did not slow down, it seemed to pick up momentum. The Lincoln groaned under the weight.

Dean's shotgun landed in the dirt with a soft thump as Dean raced forward. "Bobby! Bobby!" He reached up to his beloved car, desperately trying to steady it.

"Damn it, Sam! Don't just stand there!"

A little put out by the fact Dean called for Bobby first, Sam took his time stepping up to help. He held his shotgun in one hand and reached out to the Impala with the other. Dean's panic was odd. Afterall, his brother already rebuilt this car nearly from scratch, it wasn't like Dean could not fix whatever happened to it now. Now that he was closer, Sam heard his brother murmuring things like, "Come on, baby, easy does it," and "don't you fall on me."

"Now what?" Bobby's voice shot through the salvage yard. "Holy crap!" He heard running footsteps which stopped suddenly. Worried, Sam half turned so he could see if anything happened to Bobby. Bobby held up a hand. "You boys stay there. I'll be right back."

"And where would we go?" Dean grumbled. Sam noticed sweat trickling down his brother's face, which was turning splotchy red. He leaned into the Impala more, hoping to take some of the weight off his brother.

A loud rumble that sounded more like construction equipment filled the yard. Within moments a crane appeared from the far side of the house. Dean let out a strained laugh. "Hurry up, Bobby."

Bobby drove the crane up to the car. A wide circular metal piece, which hung from the crane part, lowered down to the roof of the Impala. A metal to metal snapping noise indicated that the electromagnet was active. Sam released the car to pull Dean back. He kept backing them up until Bobby motioned that they were far enough. Bobby worked the levers and the Impala rose into the air. The crane swung the black beast around until it was over nearly the same spot as before. It lowered slowly. Dean's shoulder muscles jumped under Sam's hand, but he maintained a firm grip. When Dean's car was only a foot or so off the ground, the magnet released. The car fell on its parking spot with a bounce and a cloud of dust.

In order to avoid Dean chewing Bobby out for dropping the car, Sam shoved his brother toward it. "You'd better check it over."

Dean responded with a tight nod before opening the driver's door. First he popped the hood to spend about twenty minutes checking things out in there. Then he turned on the motor, listened to it roar and hum. Apparently deciding that was fine, Dean shut the engine off. He got out of the car to sit on the ground. Sam walked up behind his brother.

"Dean?" Dean laid down in the dirt. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Checking it out, Sam," Dean replied, grasping the car and pulling himself under.

Sam reached down to grab his brother's leg. "Dean, you are not crawling under there. I'll do it."

Dean turned his head to shoot Sam a quizzical look. "You?"

"Yes, me." Sam held out a hand to pull his brother up. "In the morning when I can actually see something," he said as he pulled Dean to his feet.

Dean scowled, one hand going to his side. When Sam winced, Dean dropped his hand. "How about you try those stronger pain pills tonight?"

Dean shot Sam a glare before going over to pick up his fallen shotgun. Sam noticed no signs of pain or discomfort. Dean headed back to the car. As he opened the door, Sam realized what his stupid brother intended to do.

"Dean. You are not sleeping out here." Sam pointed out the car. "We're safer in the house."

"That thing just tried to take out my car, Sam!" Dean blustered, but Sam still saw the telltale trickles of sweat on his brother's cheeks and Dean's flushed face.

Sam moved to stand in the open door, between Dean and the interior of the car. "No, Dean," he fought to keep his voice calm and even, Dean's outburst from earlier still ringing in his ears. What was all that about anyway? Since when had he not trusted Dean? "No one is sleeping out here. Now come on," Sam took his brother in a firm grip by the shoulders to turn him around.

Dean squirmed in his grasp, but Sam held on trusting the pain from those busted ribs to do most of the arguing for him. "Sam," Dean growled.

"Let's discuss this inside, Dean, before it takes another shot at us," Sam argued.

"You mean at my car," Dean grumbled, but his feet moved in the general direction of the house.

Relieved but suspicious, Sam maintained his firm grip until they were through the door. Bobby held it open for both of them, having left the crane right beside the Impala when he saw the boys arguing. Sam's gratitude to Dad's best friend doubled in that instant.

"Now," Sam started the moment all three of them were safely inside the house, "what was all that crap about me and Bobby earlier?" Sam shoved his brother from behind to make his point.

"What crap?" Dean demanded, spinning around. "It's true, neither of you will let me near the weapons bag." His head hung low when he said that.

Sam turned to Bobby, shrugging. He had no idea what this was about.

Bobby leaned his shotgun against the wall. "It's not punishment, Dean. Sam and I just wanted you to take it easy, like George said."

Sam felt like slamming his head against the wall. Why did everything involving his brother have to be so freaking complicated? "Dean, if it bothered you so much, why didn't you say anything?"

Both Dean and Bobby turned to face him now, twin looks of disbelief on their faces.

"I did!"

"He did!"

Sam frowned. "When? I never heard that?"

"Uh, daily?" Bobby motioned with one hand. "Sam, do you ever actually listen to your brother?"

"Not when he thinks he's right," Dean muttered, glowering at Sam.

"Sam?" Bobby asked, and Sam suddenly felt like he was undergoing one of his dad's military-style reviews.

"Now hold on!" Sam held up his hands. "I didn't do anything wrong here. Dean is hurt and needs to be taking it easy, that's all. Cleaning weapons constantly is not taking it easy. Laying around on the couch eating pie is." Sam shrugged at his brother. "It wasn't supposed to be punishment, Dean. More like a vacation."

Dean looked away, studied the far wall. Eventually he nodded, but he did not make eye contact with Sam. "If anything happens to my car, you're fixing it." He stomped so heavily up the stairs Sam wondered if it hurt.

Sam sighed, running both hands through his hair. "How do I deal with that, Bobby?"

"One thing at a time, Sam. Let's take care of the gremlin first." Bobby waved a hand at the stairs. "Dean will cool off. He always does." Bobby snorted. "Hell, you've put him through a lot worse."

Sam rolled his eyes, returning to the couch to clean up Dean's dishes stacked on the floor beside it. Something about Bobby's statement bugged him, though. After he finished washing the dishes and putting them away, Sam paused by Bobby's desk. Bobby flipped through the pages of one of his books, researching.

"What did I put him through that was a lot worse?" Sam asked. "Are you talking about when I left for Stanford?"

Bobby glanced up briefly. "Nah, more like some ER antics." Bobby tapped his fingers on the desk as he checked another page. "I would've turned you over my knee, but Dean stopped me."

"Oh." Sam nodded, studying his shoes. "The amnesia thing." He sighed. "You know, I almost wish I could remember that."

Bobby did look up then. "Almost?"

Sam, locked into Bobby's gaze, swallowed hard. "Uh, yeah. Almost. I mean, I want to know what Dean went through, but I don't want to know how much of it I did on purpose. You know?" He sighed. "I've kinda put him on the spot lately anyway."

"How's that?" Bobby asked, shoving the book to the side.

Sam shook his head. "Sorry Bobby, that's personal. I'm going to bed."

Bobby stared at Sam a long moment before drawing the book back in front of him. "Night Sam." He sounded disappointed.

"Night, Bobby." Sam felt a twinge of guilt talking to Bobby like that, but he really didn't want to explain what he made Dean promise. Somehow, he suspected Bobby wouldn't approve.

---------

Bobby searched through twenty of his books for references on gremlins. There were plenty of references, but not much on how to kill them. He was probably too distracted to concentrate fully anyway, Bobby decided as he stacked the books on a corner of his desk. He, Sam and Dean could look through them in the morning.

As Bobby checked the house before heading for bed, he wondered how Sam might have put Dean on the spot. He knew Dean told Sam about that stupid thing their daddy made the older boy promise. Surely Sam could not have done anything to match that. Well, those boys certainly had a hard couple of months, maybe that was all Sam meant. With that reassuring thought, Bobby headed up to bed.

---------

"Your car?" Sam asked, glaring at Dean. His brother could never, ever hurt him. Why was Dean trying to convince him that his brother hit him with a car?

Dean shook his head. "No. We had a fight. You were mad at me and left. While you were out, you got hit by a car."

Sam's stomach twisted. Oh, no, it was all his fault! Dean was going to be punished, and it was because of him. "Oh, Dean! I'm so sorry!" Sam babbled, not knowing what he could say to make it right. "I know I'm not supposed to cross the street by myself! I promise, Dean, I promise I won't do it again. Honest. Promise." Please don't be mad, Dean, he begged in his head, please Dean, please!

Sam gasped, thrashing around. He had to get Dean to understand that he did not mean to get hurt, that he was not trying to get Dean in trouble this time. What was holding him down, why couldn't he move? He fought harder, needing to get to Dean, to talk to him.

"Sam!" It was Dean's voice, but where was he? And why was it so dark?

Light seemed to come from everywhere. Sam blinked hard, trying to clear his vision. Dean's face swam into view. "Sam? Dude, you awake?"

"Awake?" Sam asked, realizing that the trapped feeling was from being tangled in his sheets. He managed to untangle himself and sit up, breathing hard. When he looked over, Dean was still staring at him. "Yeah," he said with a nod, sounding a little too breathless, "yeah, I'm awake."

"Bad dream?" Dean asked, sitting on the other bed. Sam mentally kicked himself for being too distracted to notice if Dean was in pain.

Sam shook his head. Dean glared with that 'come on, I saw you' look. So Sam shrugged as he looked away. "I'm not sure," he finally admitted. "But it was a little, ah, disturbing."

Dean nodded, waiting. Sam knew Dean would not press too much, not if he didn't want to talk. He had an urge to confide the strange dream to his brother, a voice deep in his mind assuring him that Dean would know what it meant. He recognized that voice, it was the voice of Sammy, the one who kept urging him to always do what Dean said, to follow his brother's lead. He ignored that voice a lot, especially when he took off on Dean in the middle of the night right after learning what Dad made Dean promise. The Sammy voice had been particularly loud that time, screaming when he stole that car, reminding him that he promised to give Dean some time. The part that really hurt, though, was afterwards. At first he thought Dean was just so relieved they were both alive that his brother did not want to make a big deal out of Sam taking off like that. It was not like Dean not to ever mention it again, so Sam waited. And he waited. And he waited.

Sam only had so much patience. Eventually he asked Dean about it. Dean had just shrugged and looked away, as if Dean knew something like that had to happen. Dean had called Sam selfish once, just once. In that moment, in Dean's avoidance to discuss the fact Sam took off on him, Sam knew his brother was right. It had been selfish. He never considered how Dean would think of it, how it would affect his brother.

"Make a deal with you," Sam offered. "I'll tell you about my dream, if you tell me what you meant in the kitchen."

"You're fine," Dean snapped, all the compassion from a moment ago gone. He turned off the light and rolled over onto his good side. Sam sighed as he wiped away the sweat clinging to his face. Yeah, he was fine, but it was pretty clear that Dean wasn't.


	21. Chapter 21

Thanks again to everyone following this fic. Those of you kind enough to leave reviews, if I've missed returning any it's because I've been having some email "issues" not because I didn't want to reply. Thanks again!! And thanks to _**hotshow**_, my fabulous editor.

**Chapter Twenty-One**

Unable to sleep any more, Sam stared up at the dark ceiling thinking things over. That was one strange dream. It felt so real. It was not quite like the Jess dreams, it did not end in fire, but it carried the same weight of guilt with it. Part of him really wanted to tell Dean about it, that was why he offered the deal. It was the other part of him that demanded his brother explain the whole kitchen outburst as part of the deal, knowing Dean would never go for it. He recognized that expression on his brother's face. Dean thought he already knew, that he was being an ass by asking his brother to spell it out.

Sam sighed, attempting to backtrack. What exactly did Dean say in the kitchen? He had been so shocked to see his brother turn on him like that, Sam had not paid full attention. Okay, Dean turned around, that nasty glint in his eye. First, his brother accused him of thinking that Dean was useless just because Dean was hurt. Then Dean went on to list the kind of injuries he routinely carried on hunts, which Sam had always suspected but rarely been able to prove. Finally Dean had demanded to know why, if he had never let Sam down before, did Sam think Dean would let him down now. That was the weird part. Why did Dean think that Sam thought his brother was going to let him down?

Sam pondered that. He had not said anything to that effect that he could recall. Maybe it was because he had refused to let Dean near any of the weapons since they trapped the imp, making Dean feel useless. Okay, fine. He could fix that. First thing in the morning.

The sun seemed to take its own sweet time coming up this morning. By first light Sam was showered, dressed and ready to let Dean know he was not useless. First he went outside. The Impala appeared untouched. Sam found a few broken down cardboard boxes in Bobby's shed. He picked two out and carried them over to his brother's car. Sam spread them on the ground before laying down on them. He used them to slide under the car. Nothing appeared to be leaking or damaged. He would probably have to do it again later, when Dean could direct him on exactly what to check out. Sam slid back out.

Out from under the car, Sam moved around to the trunk. The fleeting thought that being under something as heavy as the Impala with a gremlin around not being the brightest thing he had ever done flashed through his mind. He wondered if Dean would chew him out for it later. Just how mad was his brother? Sam retrieved the weapon's bag from the trunk, hoping this was the right thing to do. Of course, now that they had actually seen the gremlin, Sam did not know what else they could do. He shouldered the bag, heading into the house. Sam passed Bobby as he headed for the stairs.

"Good luck with that," Bobby called out behind him. Sam scowled as he ignored the comment. Sometimes Bobby acted like he knew Dean as well as Dad did, and it was starting to annoy Sam.

He made his way to Dean's room. Sam always thought of this bedroom as Dean's since Dad died, even though he slept on the other side of the same room. Maybe he should have been suspicious when Dean did not make a fuss about sharing a room after they arrived, maybe that should have tipped him off that Dean was more than just tired. Sam sighed to himself, standing just outside the bedroom door. This was it, his one shot to make things right. Sam almost laughed at how melodramatic he was being. Dean was going to call him a drama queen.

Sam threw open the door, walked into the room to a startled Dean. He dropped the weapons bag on the floor by Dean before walking out again. Well, if Dean didn't get that message, then Sam did not know his brother at all. He paused in the hall just outside the door, wondering if he should go back in and offer to carry the weapons downstairs. Dean really did not need to be doing it with his busted ribs. Sam shook his head, moving for the stairs. If Dean wanted help, he was going to have to ask. Or order. Either would work, Sam decided as he bounded downstairs.

Bobby raised a questioning eyebrow at him; Sam gave a shrug in response. Only time would tell if this worked. Sam paced anxiously, waiting for his big brother to… do something. Anything.

"Sam?" Dean's voice right behind him was startling.

Sam spun around. He didn't even hear Dean come downstairs. "Ya-yeah?"

Dean twirled a machete in his right hand. Sam swallowed a lump in his throat at the sight. "You really expect me to lug that bag downstairs, Sam?"

Sam shook his head, moving around his brother for the stairs.

"What do you think, Bobby? Taking its head off might work." Dean's voice was calm and cool from behind him as Sam sprinted up the stairs.

--------

Dean grinned at Bobby as Sam's heavy feet plodded upstairs. "Well?" he whispered.

Bobby threw him a wink. "Maybe he got the message." Bobby exaggerated clearing his throat. "I've been reading up on gremlins. Maybe you can give me a hand?" He held out a heavy-looking book.

Dean evaluated it. "Got anything lighter?"

Bobby chuckled as he swapped the book for one half its size. "How's that?"

Grinning, Dean accepted his assignment. He took his book back to the couch, his home for the past couple of weeks, and set the machete on the floor by his feet. As Dean flipped through the pages, searching for references to gremlins, Sam came back down the stairs toting the weapons' bag. He avoided eye contact with his little brother, pretending to be absorbed in his task. Out of the corner of his eye Dean watched the emotions crossing Sam's face. Guilt, no surprise there. Surprise. Confusion.

Sam set the weapon's bag near his feet by the couch. Dean still did not make eye contact with his little brother. "Bobby needs help with the research," he said, scanning the page in front of him. Sam's huge feet sounded heavier than usual as his brother got a book from Bobby. Sam returned to stand staring down at Dean. Dean noticed he was taking his half of the couch out of the middle. He slid over, making room for Sam.

Sam bounced next to him, sending violent vibrations through the couch. Dean clenched his teeth, riding out the painful bumps, knowing Sam would never do that intentionally. A bump to his shoulder got his attention. He turned into Sam's ever vigilant eyes.

"Here," Sam held out a bottle of water. Dean took it, watching to see what Sam would do next. Sam unbuttoned his shirt pocket and withdrew two white pills that Dean would recognize anywhere. He dropped them into Dean's other hand. Without another word, Sam opened his book to research. Dean hesitated a moment, wondering if his small victory of getting the weapons back was enough to refuse the pain pills. Knowing Sam, the weapons were contingent on him still following George's orders. Were all doctors such damned busybodies? Besides, he reflected, if the gremlin had not shown up when it did he would probably still be under house arrest.

Dean threw back the pills, knowing this lighter version would not make his head too light or fuzzy to think. He searched through his book. There were plenty of references to gremlins, but absolutely nothing about killing them. After his third book, Dean tossed it on the floor where it hit with a resounding thump.

"Dean?" Bobby asked.

Dean stood, stretching carefully. "This is a waste of time, Bobby." He motioned to the stack of books by the couch he and Sam already read through. "There's nothing in here about killing gremlins. We're just going to have to see what works."

"Dean!" Sam jumped up to face him. Oh yeah, big surprise. "We can't take this thing on unprepared." Sam pounded a fist into his open palm. "We need to have a plan!"

Dean rolled his eyes. "I never said we shouldn't have a plan, Sam. I said we're going to have to see what works. For example," he sank back into the couch, "Bobby's house protections obviously work. We haven't really seen if consecrated iron works yet, because it's so fast, so we need to find a way to test that."

"Right," Bobby joined in from behind them, "and we can test the rocksalt while we're at it. You know, I've been fooling around with some holy water bullets, but I haven't gotten a chance to try them out yet."

"Yeah?" Dean glanced over his shoulder at Bobby. "How did you manage that? Doesn't the water burn off when you pour the metal into the moulds?"

"There is method in my madness. Come on," Bobby pushed off the desk, "I'll show you."

Curious, and sick of sitting around all day, Dean followed Bobby to his workshop in the back of the house. He felt Sam's eyes on his back long before he heard his brother's footsteps following. Dean carried his machete with him and Bobby had that omnipresent shotgun.

Bobby was the master of ingenuity. Bobby made tiny canisters for the holy water, small enough to fit inside a bullet. He poured the molten metal into the mold, but only on one side. Then Bobby carefully inserted a canister before pouring the rest of the metal in.

"It doesn't burn off?" Sam asked from over his shoulder as they watched.

"It can't," Bobby explained. "I'm sure the water vaporizes in there, but it's got nowhere to go. Now, the problem is whether or not it's still holy water after it condenses."

Dean nodded. "So this could be a whole lot of work for nothing?"

"It could," Bobby admitted. "But I figured it was worth trying, considering some of the stuff we've been seeing lately."

"Good point," Sam said.

Dean drew his gun out from his back waistband. "Okay, I'm game. Load me up, Bobby." He popped out his full clip.

Bobby grinned, holding out a clip ready to go. "I was hoping you'd say that."

----------

Sam resisted snarling at Bobby's delighted tone. So Bobby was hoping Dean would volunteer to test out his new, experimental bullets that may not do as much as consecrated iron or silver?

"I've alternated between the iron and the silver bullets in here, Dean. So if one doesn't work, just keep firing."

Sam relaxed a little. Well, at least they were made of silver and consecrated iron, so even if the holy water part was a bust, Dean wouldn't be defenseless.

"Dude," Dean hissed at him. Sam dragged his eyes from the cooling bullet moulds to his brother. "Relax, would you? It's just like a power boost."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I get it," he whispered back. "Assuming it even works."

"Then get rid of that sour look." Dean cocked an eyebrow at him. "You look like somebody just stole your favorite knife."

Sam knew Dean referred to that wicked semi-circular knife he owned but rarely had the occasion to use. When he was fifteen he saw it on display and pestered the living daylights out of Dad and Dean until he got it for Christmas that year. Come to think of it, Sam had not seen it lately. "Did you?" he asked.

Dean blew out a half-laugh, half-huff as he snapped the new clip in place. He hefted the weapon experimentally, judging the balance and weight with the new ammo. Apparently satisfied, Dean put his gun back in his waistband.

Bobby headed for the other side of his workshop, giving them a moment alone.

"How do you do it?" Sam asked, the question out before his brain really had time to process if asking it was a good idea.

"Do what?" Dean asked, giving him a puzzled look. "Load my gun?"

"Not that," Sam said dismissively. "How do you walk around all day like it doesn't hurt?"

"Not this again," Dean grumbled, moving to push past Sam.

Sam grabbed his brother by the shoulder, which was uninjured for a change. "No, seriously, Dean. How do you do it? And don't tell me it doesn't hurt, because I know it does."

Dean studied the wall just over Sam's shoulder. He watched as his brother's emotional walls slammed into place. "Fine," Sam released Dean's shoulder. "Nevermind." Dejected, he headed back for the couch and useless gremlin research. He got it now: his brother did not want to talk to him. As much as it hurt, Sam figured he probably deserved it. He dragged a toe along the bottom of Bobby's couch. Things were so wrong, so very wrong, and he knew it was his fault. But how could he fix it? And did he deserve to be the one to fix it?

--------

"You know," Bobby offered after watching Sam's face fall in pure dejection, "maybe you should just sit down and have a long talk with your brother."

Dean did not snort or roll his eyes or tell Bobby to shut the hell up, all of which he expected. Instead Dean studied the door his brother disappeared through. "He's having nightmares again, Bobby."

"About what?" he asked, checking on some of his herbal stores to look busy.

"He won't tell me." Dean sounded tired and weary. "Sam's being a jerk."

"I thought you were the jerk," Bobby replied, unable to hide his grin.

Dean's head snapped to the side, that intense hunting look coming over his face. "Yeah, I am." His head turned slowly back toward the door, the way Sam went. "Or maybe I haven't been enough of one lately."

Bobby shook his head as Dean left. When those boys were kids, he often thought John had been too hard on them, moved around too much. Now he wondered how the hell John managed. Bobby was about ready to take a two-by-four to both their skulls and knock some sense into those boys. Somebody needed to.

--------

It had an itch, right on top of its head. But if it moved, one of the hunters might see it. So it remained perfectly still, concealed in the deep shadow beside the house. It did not understand why it could not go inside, wreak the kind of havoc it wanted, but each time it tried it felt indescribable fear. The little boss was gone, which was strange. Its last orders were to focus on this house, these people, so it would. But right now, it had an itch.


	22. Chapter 22

This is the last chapter of the year for this story. Hotshow, my intrepid editor, will be on vacation until after the first so no evil cliffies. (This time.) Thanks to everyone following this and I hope you all have a wonderful holiday!!

**Chapter Twenty-two**

"Come on, Sam," Dean motioned to the front door. "It's time."

Sam's head snapped up from the book he read. "Time for what, Dean?" His brother sounded surly. Also not a big surprise.

"You said you'd check under my car, so come on." Dean waved a hand at the door again, wondering if Sam was just yanking his chain with that.

"I already did," Sam declared, slowly turning a page in his book. "It looked fine."

Dean bit his tongue trying to keep in the retort threatening to burst out. "Right. So I'm sure you checked the rear axle to be sure it's not bent, and that the oil pan wasn't punctured, and the zoom gear is still able to spin, and that the…"

"Fine!" Sam snapped, slamming the book closed. "Fine! I'm going!" He stormed past Dean. At the door he paused, looked back thoughtfully. "You were kidding about a zoom gear, right?"

Dean shook his head. "It's attached to the turbo thrusters."

Sam's scowl lessened. "Now I know you're kidding." Dean took a step toward his brother, holding his face stern. "But I'm going, I'm going." Sam held both hands up in defeat, backing out the front door. "Right now."

Dean followed a few steps behind, somewhat puzzled by Sam's moodiness. That boy's moods were a freaking pendulum lately, swinging hard one way and then the other. First his brother acted all concerned, willing to be helpful, and then – bam! Moody-Sam. Dean used to pride himself on being the master of Sammy-emotions. When Sammy was a kid, Dean could spot an outburst or even the potential for moodiness coming a mile away. Sam was a different story, however. Since Stanford, his brother had not been hard to read, he had been nearly impossible. Sometimes Dean had to throw something embarrassing from their childhood in Sam's face, just to reassure himself that the guy in the car with him was really his brother.

He watched impassively as Sam laid down on some broken down cardboard boxes. Huh. Maybe Sam really did check under the car earlier. Dean rubbed his forehead with his fingertips, anticipating a massive headache sometime today.

"I don't see anything leaking," Sam called out from under the car.

Dean's eyes skimmed the salvage yard around them, looking for a shadow too large or moving, or both. "Get under the rear axle, make sure it looks straight," he ordered, holding Bobby's shotgun loosely.

The sound of dirt scraping cardboard reached his ears as Sam slid around under the car.

"It's dark."

Dean nodded to himself, keeping his eyes focused on the area around them while he opened his door. Without looking, he popped open the glove compartment and removed a flashlight. A cautionary scan of the yard first, Dean kneeled down to hand it to his brother. "Here's a flashlight."

Sam pulled himself out from under the car to accept the flashlight. "Dean?" Dean did look at his brother then, tearing his eyes from their vigil. "What are you doing?"

"Making sure the gremlin doesn't come along and drop my car on you," he snapped, shoving the flashlight at Sam. He stood slowly, still surveying the area around them, resisting the urge to press a hand against his side. The pain was not as bad now after laying around for a couple of weeks. If he moved too fast or bent over too far a sharp spike shot through him, enough to steal his breath and cause stars to dance in front of his eyes. Honestly, that was the real reason he had been obeying George's orders, not because of Sam.

"It doesn't look bent to me," Sam's voice was muffled by the car. "Maybe you should have Bobby check it, too."

"Anything dripping?" Dean asked, ignoring the Bobby comment.

"Nope."

"Can you find the oil pan?" Dean asked, his eyes returning time and again to a specific shadow. He could not quite put his finger on why it bothered him, but it did.

"Maybe," Sam replied. "If this is it, I don't see anything wrong with it." Sam slid out by his feet. "Not that I really know what to look for. Dean?"

"Nah, I trust you," Dean replied absently, motioning for Sam to stand up.

"Dean? What is it?" Sam's breath tickled his ear. Dean tried to brush his brother away.

"Not sure," Dean whispered, nodding at the shadow.

Sam looked hard at it, but Dean could tell by the expression on his little brother's face that Sam didn't see anything wrong. Sam looked back at him with lifted eyebrows, which asked what Dean wanted to do.

He nearly laughed at it, because it had been so very long since Sam asked his advice on, well, anything. Instead he pretended to take it in stride, motioning to the house. Sam headed that way while he circled around the Impala, trying to appear that he was still checking for damage. When Sam was in position Dean headed for the shadow, keeping close to the stacks of cars for protection. He glance up once, wondering if the gremlin could break those stairs if it could send one of these stacks toppling onto his head just as easily. Too late, he decided, shrugging off the thought. Dean switched the shotgun to his left hand so he could pull his pistol out with his right. Might be a good time to see if those special rounds of Bobby's worked.

With a nod to Sam, they rushed the shadow together. When he was almost on top of it, a dark furry mass brushed by him, hard unwashed fur brushed against his bare skin. Dean shuddered, spinning to see where it went. Sam lay spread-eagle in the dirt at his feet with a dazed expression. Scowling, Dean raised his gun to fire, but the dark mass was gone.

"Damn it," he shouted, his frustration coming to the surface. Gun still out, Dean dropped to one knee beside his brother. "You alright?"

Sam nodded, pushing himself up to a sitting position. Large dusty footprints adorned the front of Sam's shirt and jeans. Dean was about to offer to help Sam up when he felt Sam's hands on his arm, pushing him to stand. Fighting the help would have made things worse, so he allowed Sam to lift him to his feet. Once on his feet, however, Dean pulled out of Sam's grip with a scowl.

"I never saw it," Sam said, out of breath, as he stood beside Dean.

"Maybe not," Dean replied, pointing at the footprints on Sam's front. "But you make a nice doormat."

Sam's eyes widened as he looked down. "Ha-ha." Sam brushed away most of the evidence, but the outline of one wide footprint remained right in the center of his chest. "Great."

Dean chuckled, having mastered the technique of laughing without excessive pain over the past couple of weeks. "Come on," he jerked his head toward the house, "before it decides to take up tap-dancing."

When he felt Sam's hand clap his shoulder Dean's first response was to look up, check the roofline for the gremlin. There it was, perched on the peak of Bobby's roof, dark eyes watching them. Dean froze, waiting for it to make the first move. Instead Sam did, pulling them both back, maneuvering him to the far side of the Impala.

--------

Sam wanted to hold on to his brother's shoulder, anchor them here out of danger. Assuming they actually were out of danger, that is. Maybe the gremlin couldn't attack from the roof. Then again, maybe it could throw the roof at them. Sam tightened his grip.

"We could use a distraction," Sam suggested, hoping Dean had an idea that did not involve his brother putting himself in danger. Again.

"Yo, in the house!" Dean shouted at the house.

"Yo in the house?" Sam asked softly. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means Bobby should stay in the house," Dean snapped. "Give me a little credit."

There it was, another accusation of Sam not trusting his brother. He clamped his mouth shut, trying to convince himself to ride this out until Dean was willing to talk. Of course, knowing his brother, there was every possibility that the sun would go dark first.

The front door opened a crack. "What?" Bobby's voice echoed across the yard. Dean motioned to the roof. The front door closed.

"Think he understood?" Sam whispered right in his ear.

Dean nodded. "Yeah, he got it. What he's going to do with it, though," he said with a shrug, "we'll just have to wait and see."

Sam kept an eye on the gremlin while they waited. Long, tense seconds stretched into long, tense minutes. Sam's fingers began to ache from holding on to Dean so tight. Dean shrugged him off, which was more of a relief than it should have been. "You're sure he understood?"

The low growl from Dean was his only answer. An upstairs window opened and a hand appeared. It flashed five fingers twice. Dean acknowledged by waving his shotgun. Dean felt Sam crowding behind him.

"What does he think he's doing?" Sam asked, his voice barely audible.

Dean shrugged again, his shoulder brushing up against Sam. "Whatever it is, he's doing it in ten minutes." Dean directed Sam's attention to the roof with his eyes.

"Why is it that all the people we know are insane?" Sam's jaw clenched as he swallowed hard past that tight spot in his throat.

Dean smirked. "Job perk?" Sam shoved against Dean's shoulder. Really, the times his brother used levity. "Seriously, dude," Dean's voice dropped low, "we need to come up with a distraction." Dean's eyes dropped to his watch. "Six minutes."

Sam sighed. "A distraction without scaring it off?"

Dean nodded. "Just don't make me dance for it."

"Just scare it off anyway," Sam muttered, the response automatic. "Hey," he said slowly as the idea formed, "fight?"

Dean glanced up, that familiar puzzled expression plastered across his features. "Fight?"

"Sure," Sam said, warming to the idea, "we pretend to have a huge fight, right out there," he gestured to an open area between the Impala and the surrounding stacks of rusting automotive corpses. "It should be so busy watching us, Bobby can do…uh…whatever."

Dean nodded slowly. "I promise not to hit you too hard, little brother."

"Yelling and screaming should do it, Dean," Sam said, attempting to repress a sigh.

"Telling me what to do again?" Dean demanded, turning on Sam.

"What?" Sam took a couple of steps back, startled. Were they starting now?

"You're really something, you know that?" Dean glared, but there was no scowl. "First you take off because I wouldn't do things exactly your way," Dean advanced on him, forcing Sam to back towards that open area he pointed out earlier, "not a word, or a note or anything."

Sam swallowed hard. He suspected this was not all for the gremlin, so he really needed to pay attention.

"And now that we're doing everything your way, suddenly you decide that isn't good enough either!" Dean shoved him in the chest. Okay, he did not like that look in Dean's eye. The last time looked at him like that his jaw was sore for a week.

"Well maybe I don't want everything to be my way!" Sam shouted back. "Maybe I just want you to be reasonable!"

Both of Dean's eyebrows shot up. "Reasonable? I suppose taking a couple of days off to think things through wasn't reasonable? And wanting me to kill you? That's reasonable??"

Sam's mouth flapped open a few times but no sound came out. Okay, so maybe Dean had a small point in there someplace. His brain was stuck in neutral, spinning around and around searching for something to say to keep the fight going. Fortunately he was saved by the sound of a shotgun report. He spun around, eyes darting to the roof.

A dark furry shape teetered at the edge of the roof. Sam reached out, his hand connecting with Dean's arm. He intended to shove Dean away, but felt hands dragging him backward. Sam allowed it, grateful for the fact that some things remained exactly the same no matter what happened around them or between them. How could Dean still be so worried about saving him, when he knew?

The gremlin toppled over the edge, falling straight down toward a stack of cars. Sam braced himself for the sound of bones breaking, flesh bruising and tearing. There was barely a sound as the gremlin hit the cars. Confused, he exchanged a glance with Dean. As a unit they ran toward the cars, mirroring each other's movements, working as the team their father always wanted. Sam felt a flash of guilt at that, all the years he fought against exactly what he was doing now.

He circled around, covering Dean as his brother moved in to check on the fate of the gremlin. When Dean reached up to climb up on the cars, Sam grabbed his brother's shirt.

"I'll do it," he insisted, trying to pull Dean back down.

"Watch it!" Dean snapped, batting his hands away.

Sam held on. "No, Dean. I'll do it. Come on, I don't want you to get hurt. Please?"

Dean paused in his efforts to shoot Sam a glare. "If I let you, you'll get off my case?" His brother's voice was hard, but he knew that look, that tone. Dean might be offering what sounded like a deal, but he was really asking if this was what Sam wanted.

Sam nodded enthusiastically. Dean blew out a breath and made a disgruntled look before carefully climbing back down. He pulled out his pistol before giving Sam the go ahead to climb up. There was no one Sam trusted at his back more than his big brother. That was the real reason he tricked Dean into that promise; he knew Dean would only do it as a very last resort, and he trusted Dean to know when they reached that point.

Dirt and rub stuck to his sticky palms as Sam climbed up, expecting that nasty face each time he peered up. When he finally reached the top, Sam took a deep breath before lifting his eyes just above the top of the car. Nothing. Confused, Sam climbed up higher. The roof of the car was not even dented, which in itself was unusual but made even less sense considering that was where the gremlin should have landed.

"Sam! Jump!" Dean's voice commanded. Without a thought or time to wonder, Sam turned and leapt off the cars. He hit the ground running, literally, racing away from the cars. The telltale screech of metal was his first clue. After he passed Dean and slid to a stop behind his brother, Sam saw the stack of cars listing heavily to one side. It wavered, deciding whether or not to fall. With agonizing slowness that gave the deceptive impression he should be able to stop it, the cars fell to the side, landing on another stack. That stack slumped over from the impact, leaning into the next stack. Sam sucked in his breath. It was the domino effect, but with stacks of cars. The fourth stack was jarred, but not enough to displace it.

"Damn," Dean said, his voice full of wonder. "Guess we owe Bobby a little more than some siding, huh?" His brother turned to face him. "But dude, that was awesome!" Dean's face lit with all the wonder and mischief of a child.

Sam shook his head. Some things could never change.


	23. Chapter 23

Okay, we're back from our brief holiday hiatus. Back to the story!!

**Chapter Twenty-three**

From its hiding place, it watched the others. They searched for it and if they found it they could hurt it again. It had been surprised the weapon hurt it. Even now the spots stung and burned. But it needed to wait until the others went inside before it could lick its wounds clean. It was not safe while they were out here. The others were more dangerous than the little boss had said, and now the little boss was gone.

Someplace in its mind, that tiny place where thought originated, the idea that these others might have done something to the little boss came. It shuddered at the thought. How could these creatures possibly do anything to the little boss? The little boss was very powerful, one of the most powerful of all the little bosses it had ever served.

Should it be angry? Should it be scared? It looked down at its wounds, tiny wisps of smoke drifting up from the small holes. Maybe it would decide to be angry AND scared. It would think about that, after the others went inside the house. It was glad it could not follow them there. When they were inside, that meant it was safe. So it waited, and it worried.

--------------

Sam followed Dean's lead in checking out the salvage yard before they headed back into the house.

"Well, so much for my oil change," Dean muttered as they passed the threshold.

"You were planning to change your oil today?" Bobby asked, resting his shotgun against the wall.

Dean shook his head. "Sam promised to do it."

"Oh." Bobby's mouth twisted up on one side. "I'd pay money to see that."

Several comments sprung to mind, but Sam clamped his jaw shut. He did make that promise, but it was weeks ago. He honestly thought Dean had forgotten, or maybe he just hoped. Dean chuckled from beside him, confirming for Sam how both Dean and Bobby thought of him and cars. Sam headed back for his research, attempting to ignore the humor passing between the other two men.

"Lighten up, Sam," Dean's voice teased as Sam searched for the last entry he read on his laptop. Sam ignored it as his eyes hit the passage he wanted.

It was an article that hinted at tantalizing odd things in a small town within reasonable driving distance. As Sam wondered if the gremlin might be commuting, another thought struck him.

"Bobby!" His head snapped up to lock with their oldest friend. "That possession! Did you lose it?" Sam could not believe he forgot about that!

Both Dean and Bobby gave him the oddest look. "What possession?" they asked in unison.

Sam snapped his laptop shut, not breaking the collective eye contact. "The reason Bobby asked us to come in the first place. The job he needed a few days to go on?" Both Dean and Bobby forgot too? Okay, he could see Dean forgetting about Bobby's job, but Bobby?

"He finished that," Dean said quickly. That was the way his brother always sounded with an on-the-spot lie.

Sam's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Bobby wasn't gone long enough, Dean. He said it would take two or three days. We called him back in less than twelve hours and Bobby hasn't left since. How could he possibly have finished it?"

"Well," Dean faltered, his eyes darting to Bobby and back, "maybe it just didn't take as long as Bobby thought it would." Yeah, that was a lie. Hope once again surged through Sam.

"It was an easy one," Bobby added.

Sam spared a hot glare for Bobby this time. Bobby took it, but was definitely uncomfortable. "There are easy possessions?" Sam demanded.

Dean looked downright guilty. "Look, Sam, it's my fault. Don't blame Bobby, okay?"

"What's your fault, Dean?" Sam demanded, feeling equal parts hope and anger.

Dean sighed, sinking down onto the couch. "I got Bobby to call you, ask us to come out here." Dean waved a hand at Bobby. "He lied for me."

Sam nodded, refraining from speaking, hoping Dean would continue.

Dean fidgeted on the couch, a wince coming over his face so Sam guessed his brother moved the wrong way. Sam waited. When it came to Dean, he could be both patient and impatient. He could plan for weeks, devising ways to get Dean to willingly go along with whatever he wanted. He could also just snap, scream at Dean out on some empty road and take off on foot when Dean refused to do things his way. Maybe he deserved this deception, maybe it was exactly what he had coming.

Dean cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Sam. But if we kept up that pace, one of us was going to get really hurt." Dean's head shook in that way he had, the mannerism that looked so much like Dad and conveyed the exact same sense of authority. "I couldn't allow that."

That made the anger flare just a little higher than the hope. This was exactly what he hoped for, that Dean was just being his annoying, overprotective, big brother. So why did it make him see red?

"Dean!" Sam stood, shoving his laptop aside on the rickety endtable he used here instead of a real table or desk. "You tricked me! You couldn't just say something? Like, oh, I don't know: Sam, let's take a break?"

Dean glared back as he stood, his face no longer impassive. Dean looked pissed. "I did, Sam." His brother advanced on him, but that did not scare Sam. Other people should be scared when Dean had that particular look in his eye. Sam had seen Dean take on four big guys in a bar fight right after Dad died. This was what Dean looked like that day. "But, as usual, you didn't listen."

Sam knew no amount of yelling or screaming would make Dean back off. Not now. Not when his brother had that particular expression on his face. That expression had Armageddon, doomsday, war, and death all rolled into one. Anyone who stood up to it had to be either insane or stupid. Sam wondered which category he fit into right now.

"You didn't say one word about taking a break that day, Dean," Sam replied, attempting to keep his voice calm and cool. "Not one word."

"It wouldn't have made a difference, Sam," Dean snapped, his voice more of a snarl than anything. "I'd been suggesting slowing down, maybe taking a break, for weeks!" Dean was close enough for Sam to see the green flecks in his brother's eyes widen, engulfing his irises. Full green, Sam knew from considerable experience, never meant anything good.

"You never insisted," Sam replied, standing his ground. "You never even said, Sam, let's take a break."

"Like I said, Sam, let's take a few days to think? Or Sam, Dad's an ass?" Dean's eyes flashed.

"You never said it that day," Sam repeated, attempting to ignore the things really bothering his brother. The voice in the back of his head told him that these were the issues bothering Dean, making his brother act this way. He should face these head-on, clear the air. Instead Sam told that voice to shut the hell up. "And those have nothing to do with this."

As the words left his mouth, Sam knew they were a mistake. All the emotion drained from Dean's face, leaving icy features in their stead. His brother's eyes were bright green, but the fight drained out of Dean quickly. One hand rose to press against Dean's side, but those green eyes never wavered.

"I'm going upstairs for a nap," Dean said in a soft voice, eyes throwing daggers at Sam.

That familiar guilt crept up Sam's spine, wrapping itself firmly around his ribcage, as Dean retreated up the stairs. The bedroom door slammed with a finality that the argument was over. Sam was pretty sure he didn't win, but he was just as certain that he did not lose either. If it had been win-lose he would not feel this lousy. It was definitely a lose-lose situation.

Sam dragged his eyes from the empty stairs to rest on Bobby's hot glare.

"I got something to do in the workshop," Bobby said, turning away. The stomp of those boots was undeniable anger.

Sam sunk back down into his chair. Now how the hell did he screw that up so bad? Wasn't Dean pulling a fast one, taking over as Big Brother, exactly what he wanted? So why did it make him so mad, so fast? Sam lowered his head into his hands in a desperate attempt to pull himself together.

When he finally lifted his head again, something about the room struck him as odd. It was not until he counted the shotguns that he realized what it was. Dean's shotgun was missing. Sam searched his memory for when Dean put it down, but he could not find it. A thorough search of the room turned up nothing. He listened intently for any sounds coming from upstairs, but he heard nothing. Sam contemplated whether he should check on Dean upstairs or go ask Bobby if he knew where Dean's shotgun was. After all, it wasn't like they needed any weapons inside the house.

Bobby seemed pretty angry with him, but not nearly as angry as Dean. Sam chose to head for the workshop. That seemed to be the safer route at the moment, but probably not by much.

He found Bobby making more holy water bullets, even though they had not had the chance to test them out yet.

"Silver this time?" Sam asked, trying to sound conversational.

Bobby grunted, not bothering to answer him. Sam did not really blame Bobby, but at the same time he wanted...

"Sam, you can be a real ass," Bobby announced, eyes glued to the task at hand. Bobby put the rest of the bullet mould together so he could pour the rest of the silver in on top of the tiny holy water canister. "I guess some things are genetic."

Hot silver, glowing with molten heat, poured with a steady hand into the moulds. Sam watched, eternally fascinated by the process of bullet making despite how often he complained about being forced to learn it. Sam sank down to sit on a nearby chair.

"That, uh, didn't go the way I planned," he admitted, knee bouncing nervously.

"You sure?" Bobby's words cut deep, though the older man did not even spare him a glance. Bobby concentrated on the task at hand. Sam knew the bullets would need to be released from the moulds soon, or they would stick and ruin the mould. Bobby popped the silver bullets out onto the waiting stone hearth were they still glowed with heat. Iron bullets were even more impressive, glowing that fire red straight out of the mould.

"I, ah, was wondering. Did you notice what Dean did with his shotgun?" Sam asked, eyes darting from the cooling bullets to Bobby's face. The skin around Bobby's eyes tensed, causing new wrinkles to appear.

"Why?" Bobby asked. The tone was casual but Sam was not fooled. Bobby was not happy with him.

"Because he shouldn't need it inside and I couldn't find it downstairs," Sam explained. "So I wondered if you saw….."

Bobby's eyes widened. "Shit!" The older man, about Dad's age, spun around and raced from the workshop without waiting for Sam to finish his sentence. Sam ran after him, not understanding what had Bobby so fired up. Bobby took the stairs two at a time, breathing hard the whole way. It could not be that hard on Bobby, so the panting was worrisome.

"Dean! Dean!" Bobby shouted from the top of the stairs as he ran flat out for Dean's room. Bobby beat a fist on the door, still hollering. "Dean, open up!" Bobby stopped, glaring at the door. He twisted the knob; it turned easily, not even locked.

Sam followed a few steps behind as Bobby walked into Dean's room. His bed was neatly made, Dean's was messy, the covers pulled down and pooled on the floor. What it wasn't was full of Dean. It was empty. Sam put a hand on Dean's mattress. Cold. His brother never even laid down. Stupid, stubborn moron.

Sam moved to the open window, looked out. "He wouldn't have jumped," Sam reasoned. "Not with those ribs."

"Wouldn't have to," Bobby said, his words clipped and short. He lifted the window seat, which Sam never realized was storage. "The emergency rope ladder is missing."

"The what?" Sam asked, looking down into what he thought was just a window seat. Since it was Bobby's house, he should have known better.

"The rope ladder," Bobby repeated. "The holy water flask is gone, too."

Several other items littered the bottom of the box and a couple might even be useful against a gremlin. "Dean probably didn't know what the rest of this stuff was for."

Bobby turned on Sam then. "Instead of tearing him down," Bobby said with a distinct growl, "I think I'm going outside to make sure that gremlin hasn't taken him out already."

Bobby shoved past Sam to head back downstairs. Sam only had his handgun on him, but it was loaded with silver rounds. He did not have any of those holy water bullets and the rest of the weapons were downstairs. Oh, well. Sam climbed out the window after his brother, hoping that Dean did not have time to do anything seriously stupid.


	24. Chapter 24

Thanks again to everyone following this and always to _**hotshow**_, my intrepid editor!

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

Dean skulked through the salvage yard, eyes and ears tuned for the gremlin. The quicker they took this thing out, the quicker he could take his car into town for a beer. As it stood, he felt too guilty abandoning Bobby and Sam just to blow off some steam, even if Sam was the cause of it.

Okay, so he tricked Sam into taking a little time off. Yeah, like that was really working out great for him so far. He had two busted ribs, could barely breathe without wincing, George was breathing down his neck almost as bad as Sam, and now Sam was pissed at him. Yeah, it was a freaking dream come true. Just typical, his dreams usually turned into nightmares. Like today.

Dean shook his head, trying to clear it of distracting thoughts as he tracked the gremlin. Turns out those things did leave prints, once you knew what to look for. Now that Dean knew, he found all kinds of places it hid to watch the house. All the hair stood straight up on the back of his neck when he found what appeared to be its favorite hiding place, with a clear view of Bobby's den. It spied on their conversations, their research, and him lying around eating pie and watching television.

He really needed to kill this thing. Dean tightened his hand on his pistol grip, hoping the holy water bullets did something spectacular when they hit something evil. He often wished they had more bullets for the Colt, it did some great stuff when it killed supernatural fuglies. If these bullets were half, or even a quarter, as effective, Dean would be ecstatic. Putting a full clip into something nasty didn't bother him if it worked. Otherwise it was just a waste of bullets that he would have to replace, and it wasn't like you could buy silver or consecrated iron bullets with a scammed credit card.

Dean followed the small marks the gremlin left behind, searching for another hiding place. If he could find all the places it liked to hide he could lay in wait for it, maybe kill it. At the very least, he could trap it. Then he could go get that beer.

A noise. It sounded like it came from just the other side of this stack of cars. Dean tensed, holding his breath to listen for the tiniest sound. It could have been a whisper of the wind, or the settling of this mound of rusting metal, but Dean did not think so. He moved slowly, cautiously. If it was that gremlin, what with the way his luck had been running this year - all bad - he would only get the chance to fire one shot off. If that.

Dean bent his body around the stacked cars, attempting to be 'one' with the shadow. He held his gun up, determined to get at least one shot in before it ran him down like it did Sam. Of course, with his luck, it probably would take up tap-dancing on his chest. Yeah, he needed that to happen.

Dean took in a deep breath, studying the stack across from him. He heard the noise again. Dean spun around the stack, gun first, to find his barrel aimed right between his brother's wide, shocked eyes.

With a huff, Dean lowered his gun, still scanning the area around them for the gremlin. "What are you doing out here?" he hissed, straining his ears for any anomalous sounds.

Sam shouted in the other direction, "Bobby! He's over here!"

Dean shot a glare over his shoulder. "Want to put up a neon sign too, while you're at it?"

Sam blew out one of those huffs that meant his brother felt almost as lousy as he did. "We were worried, Dean. You shouldn't have taken off like that."

"So, that's what it's like," Dean mumbled, attempting to move around his brother to check between the next couple of free standing stacks.

Sam's hand on his shoulder forced him to pause. "What what's like?" Sam demanded, keeping his voice low. You know, for a change.

"When the pot calls the kettle black," Dean replied, making sure to lock onto Sam's eyes when he said it for full effect. Sam did not even wince. No reaction what-so-ever. Dean had to swallow down the urge to sigh. Or take a swing. Both were really, really tempting.

"Come on," Sam said, one hand still clamped down on his shoulder. "We should have a plan first."

Dean tried to shake the hand off, but Sam's fingers were like a vice. He moved to throw Sam's hand off, but he forgot and moved just the wrong way. Pain shot up from his side, engulfing his ribcage. He slammed his eyelids shut against it, forcing himself breathe. When he opened his eyes again, finding his brother's worried face in front of his was not exactly a surprise. That sight had been far too common around here lately and it grated on his last nerve.

"Come on," Sam repeated, his voice stronger this time, "or I'll sic Bobby on you."

Dean snorted. "What good do you think that'll do you?"

Sam shrugged from beside him, directing Dean toward the house. "No idea, but he got you to admit to those ribs, so I figure he has something on you."

Dean scowled at the memory. "You planning to start using the same tactic?" Yeah, he really needed that to happen, too.

"I'd have to know what it was first," Sam replied, his tone off just enough to make Dean look over. Sam's face was shadowed with a strong emotion Dean could not identify.

"What's wrong with you?" Dean asked, still unable to free his shoulder and continue the hunt.

"Huh?" Sam shoved Dean up Bobby's front steps.

"You look like you have a stomach ache or something. What's wrong with you?" Dean demanded.

"You mean other than the fact I pissed my brother off enough to make him sneak out of the house with two broken ribs and a totally screwed up side in order to hunt a gremlin by himself?" Sam shrugged, opening the door. "Not much." He glared down at Dean.

Dean glared back as he went into the house. Bobby stood in the kitchen doorway, looking about as happy as Sam. Great.

"So am I grounded again?" Dean asked, crossing his arms over his chest. His left hand rested on his bicep, so it would not have to touch that broken rib.

"Dean," Bobby growled, "I thought you had more sense than that."

"Fooled you too, huh?" he quipped, leaning against the nearest wall.

"Should have known better," Bobby muttered. "Being John's boys and all."

Dean smiled at that, earning another scowl from Bobby. As angry as he still was with Dad, it felt nice to be compared like that. It meant some part of Dad lived on, in him. He knew that was what Sam thought he was doing, taking up the hunt. Sam had that same obsessive quality as Dad, and he didn't notice when they took on too much. Again, just like Dad. Hunting with Sam was easy, Dean realized, because Sam had the exact same expectations as Dad. Dean did not even have to make any observations or comments, because Sam was perfectly happy to do all the research and draw all the conclusions and put Dean right in the line of fire to get it. Just like Dad.

"Dean?" Bobby asked, head cocked to one side and a concerned look on his face. Had Dean gone to la-la-land for a minute there? Did he miss something? "Are you okay?"

Dean nodded, stiff and silent. Maybe he could blame the pain pills he hadn't taken. There was a gremlin outside, he reminded himself, he did not need to phase out like that.

"Did you find anything outside?" Sam demanded, stepping forcefully between Dean and Bobby.

Dean glared back, shrugged. And why the hell should he answer?

"Dean?" Bobby repeated, nodding at Sam.

Dean ground his teeth, unsure if he wanted to answer. On the one hand, both Sam and Bobby really ticked him off. Between Sam's temper tantrums and Bobby threatening to make him strip in the corner, he'd just as soon take off and be on his own. But there was no way he could do that. That would leave Sam on his own, and that was the last thing that needed to happen. He had to watch out for Sam, make sure nothing happened to him. He knew that yellow-eyed-son-of-a-bitch wanted Sam and Dean was determined to make sure that didn't happen. Not on his watch.

"It's been watching us," he said, looking at Bobby instead of Sam.

"You figured out how to track it?" Bobby asked, holding up a hand to Sam.

Dean glanced at his brother, who stood there mouth open, clearly ready to ask a question. Dean nodded, tearing his eyes from Sam to look at Bobby again. To his surprise, Bobby grinned.

"In that case, I have an idea on how to catch it." Bobby repositioned his cap. "But you two boys are gonna have to help me put it together."

-----------

Sam followed his brother and Bobby outside. Dean pointed out a spot directly across from the living room windows where the stacks of cars created a spot that remained shadowed all day.

"Right there," Dean said. "Looks like its favorite spot."

"How can you tell that's its favorite spot?" Sam demanded. Just throwing out statements like that sounded too much like Dad and his need-to-know crap; Sam wanted, needed, the facts. Dad wasn't perfect and neither was Dean.

The look Dean gave him was odd. Sam expected his brother to get angry, like Dad used to, or insulted. Instead Dean pointed at the ground. "See those scratches in the dirt? They're from its claws. There are more on these cars." Dean motioned just above eye level. Sam stepped forward for a better look. The scratches were faint and Sam would have dismissed them as normal for a salvage yard, but it looked like Dean was right. The scratches definitely appeared to be regular and even, made by a creature and not just metal on metal. "This area," Dean was saying, "has the most I've found, so it spent a lot of time here."

"You found all this," Sam asked, "in the ten minutes you were out here?"

Dean cleared his throat. "More like twenty, Sam. I'm not as good as Dad." Dean looked away. "As Dad was."

Sam clenched his jaw. No, Dean was not as good as Dad was. Dean just might be better. Sam hated how little confidence Dean had in himself, his abilities. Unfortunately, Sam could not blame all of that on Dad, as much as he would like to. Lately he had taken over in that department, which he knew was completely unjustified. Dean never got anyone killed because he jumped the gun, like what allegedly happened between Dad and Jo's father. Sam still wondered about that one. The fault could lie with Jo's father, too. The only person who could really say was Dad, and he was gone.

"Good work," Bobby said, with that tone Sam recognized to mean he should have said something like that first.

"More like amazing," Sam insisted. He folded his arms across his chest. "So what do we do now?" He looked between Dean and Bobby. Now that Dean admitted to engineering this time at Bobby's and sneaked out of the house to hunt on his own, Sam wanted to cement his brother back into Big Brother Mode. But in order to do that, Sam needed to give back a lot of the ground he had taken from Dean in the past few months. Maybe he needed to do even more than that, but this would have to do for now. From Dean's round eyes and Bobby's pursed lips, Sam decided that he could have made that transition a little smoother. Oh well, too late now.

"Bobby?" Dean asked, but Sam could not tell if Dean was asking what to do about the gremlin or if something was wrong with Sam.

Bobby's face hardened. "Now we get ready to take it out."

------------

Sam used to think that Dad was a hard-ass. Now he knew that Dad took lessons from Bobby. That man was at least as enigmatic and surprising. Bobby had them rearranging nearly every stack of cars in his yard. Dean worked the electromagnet crane like a pro. Sam wondered what Dean might have done with an erector-set if they'd had one as kids. His brother certainly seemed in his element. Sam took the more dangerous position of directing Dean. Bobby disappeared about an hour ago, leaving them to follow his diagram.

Sam recognized the symbol they were building, of course. He had no idea why Bobby wanted to use that particular symbol but he had not had the opportunity to ask. Well, speak of the devil…

Bobby headed for his position as Sam watched Dean carefully lower a fourth car onto the current stack. "Hey, Bobby!" Sam waved him over.

"Looks good!" Bobby shouted at Dean as he passed. Dean flashed that really big grin Sam had not seen in months and a wave before focusing on the task at hand. "How's it going, Sam? Almost done?"

"Almost," Sam replied. He gestured to the hastily drawn symbol in his hand. "But why are we using this one?"

Bobby gave him a nasty look. "Just get it done," he snapped, walking away. Sam stared as Bobby, one of the few people Dad actually trusted, a rare living remnant from his childhood, walked away without bothering to look back.

He heard the crane stop, but could not drag his eyes away from Bobby's retreating back.

"What's going on?" Dean demanded.

Sam shrugged, still watching Bobby. "I don't know. I just asked why we were using this symbol."

"Huh." Dean shrugged, turning away. "Wonder what put him in a mood."

Now Sam did look at his brother. "Seriously? You wonder?"

Dean looked at Sam. "Yeah. I haven't seen him like this since the time he went after Dad with the shotgun. And I still don't know what that was about."

"Well, I know what this was about," Sam replied slowly, wondering just how dense Dean could be. "He's still mad at me for the way I acted inside the house."

Dean snorted through his nose. "Nah, got to be more to it than that. Tell you what, you take over for me and I'll go see what crawled up his…uh, what's eating Bobby."

Before Sam could protest, Dean headed for the house. When he just stood there watching, Dean turned around to motion to the crane. Right, he was supposed to take over the car stacking until Dean came back. Releasing a reluctant sigh, Sam headed for the crane. With the mood Bobby was in, he would probably just make things worse by going in the house anyway.


	25. Chapter 25

You know, I started Lil' Sammy as a celebration that 50 people actually put me on author alert. I thought that was really cool. Now there are just over three times that many. WOW!! So I want to thank the academy and... wait, that's not me. Oh yeah! A BIG thanks to all you wonderful readers and those of you kind enough to give me feedback, for letting me know when something is confusing and when there's something you want to read. That's how Lil' Sammy and ML got started, I received a message asking for a new story. (Of course, when you do that, you might wind up as the editor on that story like **_hotshow _**- so be warned. It's not exactly a paying position and she's just wonderful about quick responses and coming up with suggestions that get those creative juices flowing.) You ask, and I do my damnedest!! Thanks again!

**Chapter Twenty-five**

Dean approached the house with a cold, hard lump in the pit of his stomach. He had a pretty good idea what might be wrong with Bobby, and it was his fault. He never should have sneaked out. Bobby and that damned priority list!

Dean opened the front door, but there was no sign of their old friend. He found Bobby pouring something powdered into a measuring cup in his workshop. "Hey, Bobby," he tried to sound casual.

"Aren't you supposed to be outside working?" Bobby asked, voice hard and cold. Yep, Dean was right.

"Thought I'd take a break," Dean said, sliding a leg over an old office chair leaking stuffing. He sat on the edge, unwilling to lean back into a position he might not be able to get out of by himself. "So what's going on?"

"I'm working on a spell to vanquish the gremlin," Bobby replied, no warmth in that voice.

He cleared his throat, distinctly uncomfortable. Dean hated this touchy-feely crap, but Bobby was a good friend. Bobby was probably the best friend he had, aside from Sam. "I guess you understand Dad a little better these days, huh?"

Bobby paused in his work to glance over. "What?"

"All the crap Sam and I put him through," Dean explained. "Can't really blame him for being kind of moody, can you?"

Bobby's face cracked into a small smile. "You were like this with your daddy?"

Dean shook his head. "Worse. You got it easy by comparison." He grinned. "We like you."

Bobby blew a snort through his nose. "Hate to see what you do to people you don't like."

Dean's grin widened. "That goes for you, too. Well, guess I'd better get out there before Sam puts a car on the roof."

"I'd appreciate that," Bobby replied with a nod. "And Dean?"

Dean paused at the doorway, looked back over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

"You pull a stunt like that again, and there won't be rocksalt in my shotgun."

Despite the fact Bobby looked serious, Dean grinned even wider. "Yes, sir."

He headed back outside, waving to Sam to get out of his crane. Sam looked like a puppet unfolding from the cab, all legs and arms. "What happened?" Sam demanded, a little breathless. "What did he say?"

Dean let out a heavy sigh, shaking his head. "Dude," he breathed, closing his eyes.

"Was it that bad?" Sam whispered. Dean heard the anxiety lacing his brother's words and the way his voice hitched on the word 'bad.' It was all he could do not to break out laughing, but he held it in.

"We have to cook dinner tonight." Dean squinted through his closed eyelids to see his brother's reaction.

"What?" Sam asked, taking a step back. "He's mad because… Damn it, Dean!" Sam's face flushed red when it finally hit him.

Dean chuckled. "He'll be fine, Sammy," Dean assured his brother with a wave of his hand. "He's just not used to being treated like Dad."

"I didn't… I wouldn't… But we…" Sam fumbled for words, increasing Dean's temporary enjoyment. "Oh, crap. We did, didn't we?"

Dean nodded. "Yep."

"Any idea why he went after Dad with the shotgun that time?" Sam asked. "So I know what to avoid in the future?"

Dean shook his head. "All I know is, we better get these cars to match that symbol before Bobby comes back out here, or else."

"Or else what?" Sam's voice came from his back as Dean headed for the crane.

"I don't know and I don't want to find out!" Dean shouted back, climbing up on the crane. He wondered once this gremlin was taken out, if Bobby would let him play a little domino rally with the cars. God, that would be so awesome!

-----------

Bobby grunted as he carefully measured out a teaspoon of dried, crushed leaves. They treated him like John? Dean was right, it was no wonder John had been such a moody son-of-a-bitch. Actually, Bobby now wondered how John managed not to beat those two into submission. He really underestimated John, needed to give the man a whole lot more credit. It had always been clear how much John cared for his boys, the way he was so protective to the point of shielding them from nearly all the hunting community. Bobby had seen how Dean doted on his daddy and how Sam wanted to be the same, but John kept disappointing him time after time. Where Dean would take any kind word and any time at all John had to spare with relish and gratitude, Sam expected those things in bulk. Now he saw the results of that kind of childhood and he was amazed, again and again, at just how well those boys turned out.

But they were still a royal pain in the ass.

He checked his list of ingredients again, running through the spell, when he heard a shout from outside. Concerned, Bobby headed through the house to peer out his front window. It looked strange outside, the familiar stacks of cars restacked and rearranged in the new formation. He strained his ears to listen but he heard nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not even the crane. A chill working its way up his spine, Bobby snatched a shotgun near the door and headed outside.

Warm dry air blew in his face, carrying specks of dust that ground against his cheeks and scratched his eyes. Bobby ignored it, scanning the area for the Winchester boys. The silence was overwhelming, oppressive. Within the heavy mantle of silence, Bobby crept forward, shotgun at the ready. He approached the crane, reaching out with his free hand. It was warm to the touch. He padded around it, an old hunter like him able to keep his footsteps soft and quiet.

As he rounded the corner he spotted a dark boot in the dirt. Cursing under his breath, Bobby moved slowly toward it. The boot was connected to Dean, who was sprawled out on the ground, unconscious. With shaking fingers, Bobby reached for the boy's neck. He found a strong, steady pulse. Relieved, he cast his eyes around for the younger brother. After checking the immediate area and finding nothing, Bobby decided to try rousing Dean.

"Dean?" he whispered, shaking the young man's shoulder. He had to shake several times before the muscles under his hand tensed. "Come on, Dean. I can't find Sam."

Sharp, bright eyes snapped open. "What?"

"Sam," Bobby explained, helping Dean to his feet, "I can't find him. What's the last thing you remember?"

"Uh," Dean rubbed both hands over his face before staring around the yard blankly. "I'm not sure. We were moving the cars, like you wanted. Sam tried telling me something but I couldn't hear him, so I cut the engine on the crane. I went to go see what he wanted…" One hand smoothed over the back of his head as he winced. "That's about it."

"It must have lured Sam out. Damn fool, I thought he had more sense than that," Bobby growled.

"Usually," Dean agreed, anxiety creasing his features. "Come on." Dean nodded in the other direction. Bobby followed a few steps behind. Dean drew out the gun with the holy water bullets.

What bothered Bobby more than Sam being lured out was the fact the boy did not come to his older brother's aid when the gremlin attacked. That had to mean Sam was already incapacitated, and Dean really did not react well to his brother being hurt. No matter what they found in the next few minutes it could not go well.

Dean rounded the next stack and froze. Bobby nearly walked right up his heels. Before looking ahead, he caught sight of Dean's face. All the color drained from it, leaving a ghostly white pallor. A hard lump formed in Bobby's stomach as he dragged his eyes from Dean's extreme reaction to the source.

A pile of cars stood in front of them, a pile that was not supposed to be there. Bobby scanned the cars, one part of his brain wondering why it was there and trying not to listen to the other part of his brain that told him exactly what must have caused it.

"I'll check it out," he told Dean, thrusting his shotgun into the boy's hands. "You cover me." Some life returned to Dean's face and he tried to shake his head, but Bobby squeezed his shoulder. "I'm getting old, Dean. I don't think I could drag both of you out."

Dean's eyes locked with his for a tense moment. "Hurry up," he snapped, eyes sweeping the area. Dean was one of the few people Bobby completely trusted watching his back.

Bobby looked for openings in the stack, hoping for the best. He found an open space like a tunnel where the sides of two cars met in a peak. Bobby lay on the ground to wriggle his way between them. If it weren't for Dean's busted ribs, that kid would be doing this. As it was, Dean would probably do it anyway and come out with a punctured lung or something. Bobby couldn't allow that. He came to the end of these cars right up against another, but there was still enough space under that one for him to peer through. He saw a hand. Swallowing hard, Bobby pressed under the next car, reaching for the hand. It was still warm. He fumbled around, unable to see what he was doing, until he happened on the right spot to feel for a pulse. It was hard to tell, but there seemed to be a steady pulse, just a little too weak for his liking.

He pushed back, moving out of the stack. Once out, he turned to Dean.

"Well?" Dean demanded, jaw clenching so tight a muscle twitched visibly.

"He's in there all right. I can't tell how banged up he is, but there's a pulse." Bobby waited a moment for Dean to process that. Dean turned hard eyes on him, waiting. "Go get the crane."

The shotgun was back in his hands as Dean spun around. The boy ran for the crane, not that Bobby could blame him. In moments he heard the engine fire up and it came his direction. Bobby directed Dean on which cars to remove. When the upper layers were gone, stacked in piles to either side, Dean cut the motor.

"I don't like the looks of that," he said, pointing out the cars in the center that were at odd angles, resting precariously on each other.

"Me either," Bobby agreed. "Maybe that's enough for me to get Sam out."

Dean's brow furrowed. "Uh, Bobby. I'm going in there." His voice left no room for argument, but that never stopped Bobby before.

"Dean, somebody needs to be on that crane in case one of those cars shift," Bobby argued.

"Yeah, and that should be you," Dean pointed out. "It's your crane. I never used the freaking thing before today."

He hated when Dean's logic was better than his. "I'd feel better if you were out here watching our backs."

Dean handed over the gun with the untested holy water bullets. "Funny. I was about to say the same thing. He's my brother, Bobby."

Bobby could do nothing but nod as he watched Dean slide through the remaining cars. When he heard the creaking of metal on metal, he held his breath, keen eyes watching for the telltale signs of a collapse. Heavy breathing reached his ears long before Dean emerged dragging Sam behind him. Bobby let out the breath he had been holding, rushing forward to help.

Blood oozed from a nasty gash on the side of Sam's head, just above his ear, matting and clumping the hair. Bobby helped lower the younger brother to the ground, getting a good look while Dean stood panting.

"Couldn't…get him…to…wake up," Dean puffed out.

Bobby nodded tightly. "I think we're going to need Doc Wayne." He turned concerned eyes on Dean wondering where the brothers kept Dean's pain meds. The older boy obviously needed the stronger ones now, but Bobby knew he would never go get them, much less ask for it.

Dean turned over his cell, proving to Bobby just how much pain the boy was clearly in. Doc Wayne sounded more panicked over the phone than Bobby felt, but an ambulance was on the way.

"I want this thing, Bobby," Dean growled, kneeling over his brother. Hard eyes scanned the area. "I really want this thing."

Bobby nodded. He felt the same way.


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter Twenty-six**

Dean sat in a chair in the ER, waiting for them to bring Sam back from some kind of test. The moment he sat down, he knew he was in trouble. Now he realized he had been running on pure adrenaline from the moment he saw those cars piled on Sam. The adrenaline drained off and his side felt like he just went a few rounds with grizzly. Dean doubted he would be able to stand up on his own, but he planned to keep that his secret as long as possible.

When Bobby slipped out, claiming to want some coffee, Dean figured he was really out for more information about Sam. So he sat alone with his memories of Sam and that freaky amnesia plaguing him. He wanted to lean forward, bury his face in his hands, try to shut it all out. Unfortunately there was no way he could move, so he stared at the wall of quiet monitoring equipment and waited. He hated waiting on Sam in the ER. Then again, he hated ERs on general principal.

"Dean, any word?" Bobby asked from the glass doors.

Dean shook his head, not bothering to tear his eyes away from the wall. A disposable cup with brown rings and a tiny flower print dangled in front of his face. Dean took it, the warmth from the coffee seeping into his fingers, reminding him that he could still feel. "Thanks."

"I ran into someone in the hall," Bobby said, motioning to an area behind Dean.

"Who?" Dean asked, sipping his coffee. Turning in his seat was a little beyond him at the moment.

"Hey, Dean."

Dean groaned at the sound of George's voice. Really, he did not need this right now. "Later, George," he snapped, not caring how he might offend the guy.

"Roll up your sleeve," George instructed, moving to stand beside him. Dean noticed his doctor carried a hypodermic in one hand, apparently ready to go.

Dean glanced up, no intention of following orders. "I said later."

George's eyebrows shot up. "When? When you can't get out of that chair?"

Dean sneered. "I can get up."

"Do it," George challenged, motioning for Dean to stand. "Bobby, put your coffee down so you can help catch him when he passes out."

"Hey!" Dean shouted, lowering his coffee.

"George, give us a second?" Bobby jerked his head toward the door.

Dean clenched his jaw, preparing for the priority list speech.

"Dean," Bobby moved to stand in front of him. "You look like crap. I'm afraid you're going to pass out any second, and if you do you won't do Sam any good. Now you let George give you that shot so we can both get back to worrying about that brother of yours. You hear me?"

Dean's eyes widened. Now that was a persuasive argument. He nodded, pushing up his sleeve.

"Hurry up," Bobby snapped at the doorway, "before he changes his mind."

Dean met Bobby's eyes, trying to read what was going on under that old stained ballcap. He barely felt the needle plunge into his arm. Bobby was worried, he realized. Really worried. Well, he should be. There was a nasty gremlin on the loose still and they had no idea what exactly should be able to hurt it.

"We should name this place after you," a familiar voice said. Dean turned his head at the sound. Doc Wayne followed one of those rolling hospital beds with Sam in it. "The Cooper Room. Whenever you two are in town, you're filling my ER one way or another."

"How's Sam?" Dean asked anxiously, standing. Yep, that was a really bad idea. The shot obviously did not have time to work and the room spun around his head, not to mention the little fact he couldn't breathe. Dean slammed his eyelids closed against it, holding on by sheer will. When he opened his eyes, both George and Bobby hovered just a little too close. "Well?" he demanded.

"No brain damage," Doc Wayne replied. "And so far, I'm not seeing any fluid build-up or anything. He has a concussion, so we'll need to keep Sam overnight at least. How about I put you two in your regular room?" The sarcasm dripping from Doc Wayne's voice was pretty strong.

"Gee, Doc, I didn't know you were a comedian, too."

"We could leave the second bed in there, in case any of Sam's family wanted to stay overnight," George said. Dean looked between the two, noticing an unspoken agreement.

"Right. No problem," Doc Wayne replied, though his voice was a little nicer this time.

Dean had the distinct feeling that they were referring to him, not that he would leave Sam alone in the hospital right now anyway. That gremlin already tried attacking him here before.

"Bobby?" Dean turned to face his old friend. "I'm going to need a few things."

-

* * *

Bobby carried a large duffel into the hospital room. Dean sat in a chair beside Sam's bed, his eyes a little red around the edges. Bobby had the feeling he was intruding, probably on Dean blaming himself for this. He dropped the duffle with a clatter. Dean jumped in his seat, but Bobby noticed the boy did not get up.

"Hey, Bobby." Dean sounded tired and weary. He motioned to the unconscious Sam. "You didn't miss anything. Hasn't woken up yet."

"He should soon," Bobby replied, trying to reassure Dean. He knew Dean had a huge capacity for self-blame, only equaled by his father's.

"That's what the doc said," Dean replied. "You get it all?"

Bobby opened the duffel and rummaged in it, naming the items as he took them out. "Salt, chalk, a medicine pouch, and a change of clothes for you and Sam."

"Medicine pouch?" Dean asked, taking the small leather pouch from Bobby.

"Well, I figured if the wards on my house were working, then this should protect any individual who wore it," Bobby explained. "It's pretty powerful."

Dean stood, a wince flashing across his features. He hung the pouch around Sam's neck.

"I was thinking of the door," Bobby said carefully, wondering if that might set Dean off.

Dean shook his head. "It's targeting Sam. He needs it most."

Bobby pursed his lips but did not comment.

"Give me the salt. I'll do the windows and doors and you can use the chalk. You and Sam are much better at that stuff anyway." Dean held a hand out.

Bobby hesitated. "Has George checked you out yet?"

Those hazel green eyes flashed with irritation and indignation. Dean bent down, purposefully, and removed the salt canister from the bag. Without another word he started salting the window sills. Bobby blew out a breath before taking his chalk to the floor. He started with a circle around Sam's bed, which would later need to be salted as well.

"I don't know how we're going to keep the nurses from cleaning all this up," Bobby remarked.

"I got Doc and George working on that," Dean replied. His voice sounded strained. Bobby looked over. Sweat beaded up on Dean's forehead and all the color had drained from his face.

"You damn fool," Bobby snapped, dropping his chalk. He grabbed Dean by one arm and pushed him toward the empty bed. "You get your ass in there and lay down!"

Dean shook his head. "Gotta finish…"

"Nevermind that!" Bobby glared hard at the boy. Damn, but this one was probably more stubborn than John! He did not realize that was possible. "I can take care of a little salt, Dean," he tried using a softer voice, "this isn't my first rodeo, you know."

Dean's eyes dropped and he nodded, guilty. Bobby chewed the inside of his cheek, wondering how he should react to that. Instead of reassuring Dean, he forced the boy into bed. By the way Dean quietly climbed into bed, Bobby realized this was probably one of the ways John manipulated his son. Things like that used to really irritate Bobby. He was starting to understand now, though. Sometimes you did what you had to do.

After he was done with the inscriptions in chalk on the floor and salting the entrances to the room, Bobby checked on the boys. Sam was still out, but there was a little more color to Dean's face.

"Feeling better?" Bobby asked gently, hoping the kid did not hold a grudge against him.

Dean turned to look at Sam in the other bed. "Not yet."

Bobby patted Dean's shoulder, wishing he could offer some words of comfort. He wanted to say that Sam would wake up soon, that everything would be fine. But if he did and he were wrong…well, Bobby did not think he could face that. So he pulled Dean's chair between the two beds to sit and wait.

-

* * *

"What's the name of this movie again?" A deep, gruff voice asked.

"Starship Troopers. Seriously, Bobby, I thought you would've seen it. It's a nonlinear storyline. They use news spots and propaganda features to tell the story. Plus, it's got some awesome aliens that spurt goo when they get blown apart."

He knew that voice. It was familiar and comforting.

"Now why in the world would I have seen that?" The gruff voice demanded. "Do I look like somebody who goes in for, what did you call it? Nonlinear storylines?"

"Not the point," the familiar voice said. He wanted to curl up inside those tones, let them just wash over and protect him. "It's just a different story telling technique. The point is the aliens. You wouldn't believe those things. And they filmed the whole alien planet in Hell's Half Acre."

"Wyoming? Seriously?"

"Yep. Dad and I went there between hunts. Pretty amazing." He heard sheets rustling. "It looked a lot bigger in the movie."

"Half an acre isn't very big," the gruff voice agreed. "So your daddy actually took you sightseeing? I didn't think he went in for that kind of thing."

"Not usually," the familiar voice replied hesitantly. He recognized that tone. It meant this was a topic Dean did not want to discuss. He wondered if Bobby would be able to drag it out of his stubborn brother.

"But?" Bobby prodded.

There was a long pause. "He's awake."

Damn it. How did he always know? Sam shifted uneasily, attempting to pry his eyelids open. The room was blurry, but it cleared after a few hard blinks. They were in a hospital room. He opened his mouth a couple of times, but it was too dry to speak. Bobby stood, poured out some water into a cup and held it for him. Sam sipped, the cool fluid streaming into his mouth, soothing his tongue and throat. He gripped the cup, downing the rest greedily before motioning to Bobby to fill it up again.

"Let that settle first, Sam," Bobby said gently, pushing him back down into the thin hospital pillows.

"How's the head?" Dean asked.

Sam relaxed into the bed, taking stock. One leg had a dull throb in it, like it was severely bruised, as did one shoulder. His neck ached and one side of his head felt like a little man with a jackhammer was trying to escape. "It'd be better without the jackhammer," he admitted.

"He's fine," Dean said. Sam turned toward his brother's voice. Dean's grin was wide and sincere, so whatever happened must have scared his big brother.

"What happened to you?" Sam asked.

Dean's grin widened, both arms coming up to prop up Dean's head with his hands. "Just taking a little break."

"That reminds me," Bobby said, moving away. He returned a moment later holding some blue chalk.

"What's that for?" Sam asked.

"I've already put the sigil around your bed, now I need to do it for Dean's," Bobby explained.

"What!" Dean pushed himself to a sitting position. "Bobby, it's not like I'm going to be sleeping tonight."

"The hell you're not," Bobby snapped, kneeling down to work on the floor. "I'll get George to drug you if I have to."

Dean sat glaring hotly at Bobby. That expression reminded Sam of something. He looked around, but it wasn't here. "Dean? Did you remember Batman?"

-

* * *

_Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm going to have to go into hiding and change my name now, right? I'll do my damnedest to post the next chapter this week, honest!_


	27. Chapter 27

Okay, okay, call off the dogs! (Well, now I know how to get some of you to review - threaten ya'll with Batman!! LOL!!) Suffering from technical difficulties, namely that I seemed to have left my brain with my laptop - at work. Fortunately there was a copy of this chapter in my email. I promised I wouldn't wait too long!! **_Hotshow _**was able to proof the first part of this chapter, but I didn't hear back from her on the rest today, so if it sucks it's my fault.

**Chapter Twenty-seven**

Dean's breathing stopped. Just flat-out stopped. He could not even remember why breathing might be necessary. He was not one for praying, but he prayed now. _No, God, don't do this. Please, please don't do this._

"Sam?" Bobby peered over the edge of Sam's bed. "What did you say?" His voice was real soft, so Bobby must have heard it too.

"Batman," Sam repeated. Then he frowned, rubbing that spot between his eyes where all the skin wrinkled up. "It's okay, Bobby. I don't think I need it, I was just wondering."

It was like watching a really bad train wreck. You didn't want to look, but you couldn't tear your eyes away. Dean wanted to know what Bobby thought, but at the same time, if anyone else thought the same thing, then it might be true. And he really did not want that.

He tried to ask the question, the one question that would tell them if this was Sam or Sammy, but that pesky problem of breathing got in the way. If he wasn't breathing, he wasn't able to talk either.

"Sam," Bobby said, clearing his throat. He was obviously just as worried as Dean, because he got up from the floor to go look Sam right in the face. "Uh, this may sound like a stupid question…"

Dean closed his eyes, hoping and praying, yes damn it praying! Praying for the right answer.

"…but, how old is Dean?"

His eyes flew open to study his brother. Sam's face fell into a deep scowl. "That's it. I'm buying both of you a frigging calendar."

The ancient air in his chest exploded in a louder laugh than was called for, and it took several moments for his breathing to come back under his control. Bobby sat on the edge of Sam's bed, laughing with Dean, while Sam looked on bewildered.

"Uh, somebody mind letting me in on the little joke?" Sam asked like he was talking to a couple of escapees from the mental ward.

Dean shook his head, amazed that he was not incapacitated with pain. "Dude, if you ever scare me like that again, I'm kicking your ass."

Sam shifted around, settling deeper into the thin hospital pillows. "I don't get it," he finally said. He looked between Bobby and Dean, full puppy dog eyes. "How did I scare you?" He rubbed at his neck. "The last thing I remember is following a noise out in the yard. Dean cut the engine on the crane…" Sam's face screwed up with concentration. After a moment he shrugged, his face returning to its usual calm expression. "So what happened?"

"The gremlin," Bobby answered simply. Sam shot him a dirty look, giving Dean no end of joy.

"It decided to drop a few tons of cars on your head," Dean added, unable to wipe the big grin off his face. "I'm going to buy you a helmet."

Sam snorted. "At least you're in a good mood. God, my head is killing me."

Dean caught Bobby's eye, nodded subtly toward the door. Bobby gave him a nod. "Back in a minute, boys."

"So what are you doing over there?" Sam asked, eyeing Dean in bed. "That doesn't look like a hospital gown."

That was enough to wipe away his grin. "No, it's not," he replied firmly. "I'm just here to keep the gremlin away from you tonight."

"Who pulled me out of the cars?" Sam asked.

Puzzled, Dean stared back for a while before asking, "What does that matter?"

"It matters, Dean." Sam blew out a long sigh. "You did, didn't you?" Dean refused to answer, not understanding where this might be heading. "I thought so. I guess you didn't let George examine you either."

Since it was not a question, Dean figured he didn't have to answer.

"Sam!" Doc Wayne strode into the room with Bobby on his heels. "It's good to see you awake. How's the head?" Doc pulled out a penlight to check Sam's eyes. This was better, all the attention focused on Sam. Dean let his legs hang off the side of the bed, watching.

"Feels like something is trying to bust its way out," Sam replied, wincing when Doc's hand strayed too close to that lump.

"That'll pass. Now, do you feel up to a few questions?" Doc watched him expectantly. Sam shrugged. "Good." He pulled out a small notepad. Apparently the good doctor did his homework and was ready to go.

"First of all, how old is Dean?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Seriously, man, what is with this fixation on Dean's age? Unless I missed a birthday, he's twenty-eight." He cast a worried look at Dean. "Right?"

Dean grinned and nodded. Yes! It was definitely Sam!

"Good, good," Doc Wayne said, scribbling down something. "Now, how old are you?"

"Twenty-four. Are there any questions with some kind of point to them?" Sam demanded.

Dean held in the chuckle threatening to escape.

"How do you feel about clowns?"

Sam's eyes widened. His head snapped to the side to glare to Dean. "Dean! What have you been telling him?"

Dean spread his hands, helpless. "Honest, Sam, I didn't."

"Dean!" Sam shouted, red seeping into his cheeks.

"Sam," Doc Wayne sat on the edge of the bed, patting Sam's lower leg in what was supposed to be a reassuring manner. Sam turned his glare on the good doctor instead. Doc Wayne yanked his hand back as if he'd been burned. He cleared his throat. "I don't suppose you remember our cafeteria downstairs?"

Sam's face blanked for a moment. "Sure. Crappy food. Typical. Except it has…" His mouth fell open. "Oh, crap," he mumbled, burying his face in his hands. "Dean," he said through his fingers, "please tell me I didn't have a full meltdown in the cafeteria because of clowns."

Doc Wayne's face lit up. "Sam? How about nasty ER nurses who refused to let your brother go in the backroom with you?"

Sam's fingers parted enough to look at Doc Wayne, then he doubled over, hiding his head between his knees. "No, no, no." His head shook from side to side.

"Doc," Dean whispered. He pushed himself over the side of the bed onto his feet. "Give us a minute?"

Doc Wayne reached over towards Dean's shoulder, seemed to rethink it and grabbed him by the upper arm instead. After a gentle squeeze, the good doctor headed out the door. With a tilt of his head, he asked Bobby to wait just outside too.

Now that they had a reasonable amount of privacy, Dean rested a hand on Sam's back. His brother trembled just under his touch. "Sammy?" he asked gently. "Dude, whatever it is, it's okay."

Sam mumbled something Dean couldn't make out. "What?"

Sam lifted his head, eyes red. "Dean," he hissed, fresh tears cascading down his cheeks, "please tell me it was just a nightmare. Please!"

Dean shrugged. "Okay, it was a nightmare."

"Don't do that!" Sam snarled at him. Jeez, he was easier to understand when he thought he was five. "That's not what I meant!"

"So what did you mean? I'm not a mind reader here, dude." Dean leaned against Sam's bed, leaving his hand in place.

Sam took several deep breaths. "You and Bobby really weren't kidding about the regressive amnesia."

"The weirdo amnesia? No." Dean searched Sam's face for a clue. "Why?"

"I kinda thought…" Sam took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "I guess I hoped, you two were exaggerating a little."

"Sammy…" Dean started to chastise, his hand automatically rubbing in small, comforting circles.

Sam shook his head. "Come on Dean, you would, you know it. Anything to embarrass me." Sam wiped the tears from his cheeks, his face still reflecting his shock. "But this time…" Wide, wet eyes turned on Dean and he felt himself cave. If Sam asked him for the Impala right now…well, this was no time to get absurd. "This time, you downplayed it. Didn't you? I really did freak out in the ER and the cafeteria." His nose scrunched up like he smelled something nasty. "And I really do hate that Catwoman bitch."

Dean could not help the laugh, but he wanted it to be with Sam not at him. "You and me both, little brother. I loved the way you shot her down when she came out to Bobby's." Dean tried to imitate his brother's voice. "Lady, I don't even have to ask for permission to drive the car." He laughed lightly, shaking Sam by the shoulder. "Oh, I wish I'd taken a picture of her face."

A smile cracked across Sam's face. "Yeah. It's probably a good thing I didn't remember her, huh? Really made her look like a crackpot."

Dean nodded enthusiastically. "Last time I checked up on her, she was still trying to get her license to practice back."

"When was that?" Sam asked. "Before we left?"

Dean shook his head, figuring he'd better own up now. "Last week."

Sam's eyebrows shot up, hidden by his bangs. Dean shrugged. "I like to keep tabs on the bitch."

"And?" Sam prompted.

Damn, his brother really did know him well. "And maybe I send her flowers sometimes. She's allergic to almost everything."

Sam laughed a little. "How do you sign the card?"

"The last one? I think it was R. Quincy," Dean informed him with a smile.

Sam smiled. "Want to pick someone from Grey's next time?"

Dean scowled, shaking his head. "Dude, you know I hate that show." He snagged a couple of tissues from the bedside, handed them over to Sam.

When Sam's face was dry and his brother seemed a little more in control, Dean asked, "You ready now?"

Sam's eyes darted to the closed door. He nodded, though it felt reluctant. Dean squeezed his shoulder briefly before heading for the door. He winked at Sam as he stood with his hand on the knob. Dean yanked it open forcibly, exposing Bobby leaning into where the door once was and Doc Wayne standing right beside him.

"Gentlemen?" Dean swept a hand into the room. "Care to join the party?"

Bobby's cheeks flushed deep enough red to match his vest. He cleared his throat and stood up. "Just, ah, checking the lock."

Dean drummed his fingers against the doorframe. "It's a hospital, Bobby. Patient doors don't have locks."

Bobby nodded. "Right. That's what I was checking. No lock." A hand waved by the door as Bobby whisked back into the room.

Dean gave Doc Wayne a questioning look, but that man could be a champion poker player with a face like that. Dean made a mental note not to play cards with Doc, unless he wanted a challenge. Bobby motioned Dean over to the other bed, probably to cover up the fact Dean just busted him eavesdropping. He grinned, leaning against the bed on his good side.

"I do have George's number," Doc Wayne whispered near Dean's ear.

Dean cocked an eyebrow at him. "Danner," he said, naming Doc Wayne's mother's maiden name.

"What?" Doc Wayne asked, a puzzled expression finally crossing that stoic face.

"Danner," Dean repeated. "Appleton, Wisconsin," he named the Doc's birthplace. "I've got more." He waggled his eyebrows at the Doc.

Doc Wayne cleared his throat, giving Dean a strange look. "Sam?" He focused his attention back where it belonged, on Sam. "How bad is that headache? Need something for it? I can order something we can inject right into your I.V."

Sam squinted up at the doctor, probably weighing his options.

"Give it to him," Dean ordered. "It hurts to look at him like this."

"Fine," Doc Wayne replied. "Sam, I need you to stay overnight, just for observation. But I must say, I'm really encouraged by the fact you're starting to remember events from your amnesia."

"Great," Sam mumbled. "Glad somebody is encouraged. I want to crawl under a rock."

Dean chuckled, purposefully loud enough for Sam to hear. "Anything else, Doc?" he hinted for the doctor to leave.

"No, but you can call the nurses and I know Dean has my number." He smiled broadly. "I'll be back to check on you after I finish my rounds, Sam."

Sam lifted a lazy hand in the air and waved it without looking. Dean figured his little brother might be trying to deny his new memories. Well, hell, if that's what Sam wanted to do, that was fine with him. Except…

"Sam? Do I need to go on clown patrol before the doc leaves?" Dean asked, beaming.

Sam groaned again, rolling away to face the wall. Bobby grunted, shaking his head. Yeah, this could be loads of fun.


	28. Chapter 28

Greetings! And we're back with another chapter. Sorry this one took a little longer than usual, but **_hotshow _**really wanted, well, the way this chapter ends. And she got it! I hope the rest of you like what's coming, too.

**Chapter Twenty-eight**

Sam faced the wall, wishing he could fall asleep and convince himself this was all a really, really, really bad dream. And he thought those visions were bad!! Oh, god, he could remember it all.

He lifted his hands to cover his face. When Bobby mentioned wanting to turn Sam over his knee for some ER antics, he thought maybe he spilled some coffee or fingerpainted on the walls. He had no idea that he threw a massive fit right there in the waiting area and 'accidentally' knocked out two orderlies before Dean got him to calm down. Well that went a long way to explaining why the nurses in the ER always wanted him in restraints.

Sam doubted he would ever be able to show his face in the hospital cafeteria again. A full clown melt-down? Dean liked to tease him occasionally about crying at those commercials when he was a kid, but the real reason it upset him was because it was true. He still didn't like clowns, but he no longer felt the need to run away. But clown patrol? He didn't remember sending Dean on clown patrol. Was there a time when he asked Dean to check for clowns? Sam searched his now-available memories and, yes, to his eternal shame, there was.

So lost in his own thoughts, Sam had no idea who else was still in the room. He remembered someone coming in and doing something to his I.V., but he could not tell what or how long ago it happened. Had he drifted off? "Dean?"

"Yeah, Sam?" Dean's voice was sharp and clear.

"Uh…" How could he ask if they were alone?

"Bobby's out searching for fresh coffee. It's safe."

Sam sighed as he rolled back to face his brother. How did Dean do that? It was like his brother could read his mind.

"Want to see how bad the television shows are right now?" Dean asked, lifting the universal bed/nurse call/television control.

"No," Sam breathed. "We need to talk."

Dean made a face. "Maybe we can find Rockford Files on. It's about the right time of day."

"Dean…" Sam let all of his frustrations flow into his brother's name.

Dean rolled his eyes, dropping the control. "Fine. What?"

"Why…" Sam swallowed, his mouth bone dry. "How did you put up with me?"

Dean still sat on the edge of the other bed. His head cocked to one side as those intense older brother eyes raked over Sam. "You're my brother."

Duh. That was implied in the tone, of course.

"You should have…" Sam took a deep breath. What? What should Dean have done? Had him committed? Locked him away? Dean sat a couple of feet away, waiting for Sam to finish. "Punished me."

Dean's serious face broke with a single chuckle. "Punished you? Dude. You're bigger than I am." Dean's head shook from side to side. "I figured I was doing pretty good just keeping you under control. Besides," Dean hopped off the other bed to stand closer to Sam, "it wasn't all that bad."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Don't bother lying to me, Dean. I can remember everything now."

"I wasn't lying, Sam." Sam looked up at his big brother again. Dean shrugged. "When you were little, you were a pretty good kid. You never went looking for trouble back then, or when you had weirdo amnesia. That was my job." Dean grinned.

Sam shook his head. "No it wasn't," he insisted. "You were just looking out for us." An image of Dean fighting in a bar flashed through his mind. "You didn't really take me out to hustle pool, did you?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Told you I'm just trouble. Now. Are we done with this chick-flick crap?"

Sam nodded, more to put his brother at ease than because he was actually ready to be done. Dean headed back for the television control. "You let me get away with murder, you know."

Dean laughed. "Yeah, well, you always were a spoiled brat."

"Boys?" Bobby walked in. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"Nah." Dean held out a hand. Bobby handed over a cup of coffee. "Sam's just remembering a little too much right now."

"Hey." Sam struggled to sit up. "Where's mine?"

Dean's free hand shot over to push Sam back down. "You don't get any. Doc's orders."

"He's a pain in the ass," Sam grumbled.

"You prefer Catwoman?" Dean asked, eyebrows raised.

"Ah – no." Sam settled back into the thin pillows. "Think they have anything more comfortable?" he asked, punching at the pillow behind his head with one hand.

"I'll ask," Bobby offered, heading out of the room again.

"Bobby really read me the riot act after the ER thing," Sam told his brother as he felt the heat rise in his cheeks again.

Dean nodded, glancing down. "Yeah. I figured." He cleared his throat. "I didn't ask him to do that."

"I know, Dean." Sam studied his brother's down turned face. "And I'm sorry."

Dean did look up then. "It wasn't your fault, Sam. You had weirdo amnesia."

"No, I know that." Sam fumbled with his bed controls, lifting the head of the bed higher to make it easier to say this to his brother's face. "I meant that I'm sorry for the way I acted earlier today." He paused, wondering how long he had actually been out. "That was today, right?"

Dean offered a lop-sided smile. "Yeah, that was today." Dean sipped at his coffee. "Don't worry about it."

"I have to Dean," Sam argued, wondering if he could have this conversation without turning into an ass again. "Because I was hoping that you set us up to go to Bobby's."

Dean's eyes widened and he choked on his coffee. "Do wh-what?"

Sam heaved a deep sigh. "Well, I…" He shook his head. "I don't know if I can explain it."

Dean swatted at Sam's feet. Sam moved them over to give his big brother room to sit at the foot of his bed. "Try," Dean commanded.

It was the most big brother-ish thing Dean had said in months. Sam found that he wanted to obey, but not necessarily in front of Bobby.

"They're checking on the pillows," Bobby announced, stomping his way into Sam's room. "And according to Sam's nurse, they're going to take him down for some more tests soon. I guess ol' Doc Wayne is being paranoid." Bobby frowned at them. "What? Am I interrupting? Again?"

"Sam was just explaining something," Dean said, those hazel-green eyes not breaking contact with Sam's for an instant. "Go ahead, Sam."

Back at Bobby's house, that very same tone was the one that sent Sam right over the edge. Now he found it familiar and comforting, because the truth of it was that Dean was the one who always looked out for him. Dad was almost never home when they were kids, but Dean was always there. He knew that Dean would continue to always be there when he needed his big brother.

"I was hoping Dean called you, Bobby, to get us to take a few days off," Sam admitted sheepishly.

Bobby's eyes went wide and round. "You want to run that by me again, Sam?"

Sam shook his head. "Not really."

"But you were going to try to explain," Dean prompted him. Steam from Dean's coffee drifted up, twirling in the gentle air currents in the room. It was peaceful, serene, and at complete odds with the violent twisting in his gut.

Sam twisted the thin, coarse bed sheets in his fingers. Did he dare say it out loud? For that matter, could he say it out loud? "After that time I took off and you had to come find me," he said softly, "things kind of…" Sam shrugged.

"Sam?" Dean asked. Sam felt Dean shift on the bed. His brother was probably running out of patience and Sam really did not blame him.

"Changed," Sam finally said. "Things changed."

"What things, Sam?" Bobby asked.

Sam could not pull his gaze from these fascinating sheets. There was a little yellow stain or burn, about the size of a pinhead. Right there. He twisted the edge of the sheets tighter around his finger. "Stuff between me and Dean," he finally admitted, "changed."

"Dean?" Bobby's voice was softer than Sam thought possible.

"It's not important," Dean said, moving off Sam's bed. Sam glanced up. Dean's face was perfectly blank, impassive, like he was in the middle of a poker game.

"Hang on." Bobby stood in Dean's way. "What the hell has been going on between you two? Now I wasn't going to say anything," he shoved his ballcap back, "but I think this has gone far enough.

"Sam, you've been an ass. And Dean, I don't know what the hell is wrong with you, but you'd better knock it off. I've never seen you two so out of sync. If your daddy were here…" Bobby shook his head. "Well, he'd probably tan both your hides."

Dean snorted out a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "Yeah, probably."

Sam crossed both arms over his chest. "Dad never laid a hand on either of us."

Bobby turned to glare at him. "Maybe he should have."

Sam dropped his eyes back down to his sheets. Maybe Bobby was right, maybe Dad should have spanked them as kids. Hell, maybe Dad should have just beaten them. He knew he deserved it.

"Knock it off, Bobby," Dean snapped. "We'll see you tomorrow."

Sam's head snapped up. Did Dean just throw Bobby out?

Bobby studied Dean before nodding. "Fine. In the morning, or should I call first?"

Dean shrugged. "Whenever you want. Tomorrow."

"Night, Sam." Bobby set his half full cup of coffee on a table before he walked out. Was it nighttime already? Sam glanced at the window. Bright bands of color slashed through the lower sky, painting the horizon in temporary beauty. Sam always thought of it as the tranquility just before the nasties came out to play.

Feeling very apprehensive, Sam turned to watch his brother. Dean watched Bobby leave before sitting on the other bed.

"Damn," Dean muttered, looking down at the floor. "He didn't finish with the salt." He popped off the other bed to retrieve the canister of salt. Sam watched his brother bend over to pour salt on the chalk design on the floor.

"Let me," Sam insisted, swinging his legs out of bed.

"No, Sam," Dean replied in a calm voice. "You keep your ass in that bed or I'll tie you to it."

Sam swallowed hard, but he pulled his legs back in. "Dean, I really do feel fine."

"Sure," Dean agreed in that same voice, "as long as you have that feel-good juice in your I.V. Stay right where you are, Sam."

Sam watched his brother anxiously as Dean circled his bed. When his brother straightened up, his face was flush. "Maybe you need some of this feel-good juice too, Dean," Sam suggested.

Dean shook his head, setting the canister on the table next to the remains of Bobby's coffee. "Nah, it'd just put me to sleep. I don't plan on sleeping tonight."

Sam rolled his eyes. Well, he wanted his big brother back, didn't he? He certainly got it now. "Dean, that's ridiculous. Just salt the symbol around your bed and get some sleep."

Dean gave him a grin that had no warmth in it. "That was Bobby's plan, not mine." Huh. No wonder Dean wanted to get rid of Bobby. What did Bobby have on Dean, anyway? Sam could really use that.

A nurse appeared in their doorway with a wheelchair. "Sam?" she asked, giving them a sweet smile. "I need to take you downstairs for a few tests."

Dean flashed her a broad smile. "Hey, Jasmine. Been a while."

"It's Lily, Dean," she said with a laugh. "Why can't you remember that?"

"Because I only think of roses when I see you," he said, that smile beaming now.

Lily laughed again. "Oh, Dean! You flirt, you!" She swatted at Dean's arm and he laughed with her. Sam tried to place her face, but he couldn't. He would have to ask Dean later who she was. "Come on, Sam." She patted the seat of the wheelchair. "Let's go for a little ride."

Sam hesitated before getting out of bed, looking at Dean.

"Well come on, Sammy. Don't keep Lily waiting." Sam held the back of his hospital gown with one hand and rolled his I.V. around the bed with the other. Lily rushed over to help with the I.V. pole.

"I hate this," he mumbled. To his surprise, he felt Dean's hand give his shoulder a squeeze before Lily started pushing the chair out of the room.

"Don't mind if I come too, do you, cutie?" Dean rushed to walk beside them in the hallway.

Lily laughed again. "Dean, do you ever stop?"

Dean pressed the button for the elevator. "Nope," he said, beaming. "Isn't that right, Sam?"

"That's right," Sam agreed readily, wondering if things between them were settled now.

The elevator doors opened. "Here we go," Lily said brightly, pushing him inside. As they crossed into the small box, the elevator shuddered.

"Maybe we should take the stairs." Dean's voice carried over his shoulder.

He heard Lily give a small gasp of surprise. "My badge!"

"I have the doors," Dean promised.

Sam twisted around in the wheelchair as Lily locked the wheels. He watched her step out to retrieve the nametag on the floor. Dean stood just outside the elevator, one arm holding the doors open. His brother ogled Lily's ass as she bent over and Sam could not resist a chuckle.

"Hey!" Dean grabbed at the elevator door with both hands, but it closed rapidly. Dumbfounded, Sam watched with an open mouth. Dean barely got his fingers out in time. With the doors closed, the elevator shuddered again and the lights went out.

Laughter rose up within him, but it was strange to his ears. The sound was foreign, like it came from someone else. Now he heard Dean shouting and pounding on the doors outside. He laughed again, knowing that the gremlin engineered this. Yeah, he was so screwed.


	29. Chapter 29

Okay, no evil cliffie for the weekend! See? I know how to be nice. Really. No promises about next week, though.

**Chapter Twenty-nine**

Okay, he really had to stop laughing. This was not funny. Sam clamped his mouth closed around his hysteria, deciding it was the happy-juice. He tried to focus on the elevator around him. In the movies and on television, there was usually a trap door in the top of the elevator car. That panel just off-center looked promising.

Sam focused on the tube stuck in his arm. If he just yanked it out, he would bleed profusively. Not going to do that again, Sam decided. Last time Dean totally freaked. He found what he thought was the off switch. Then he carefully removed the tube from the needle still stuck in his arm. Nothing spurted out, red or otherwise. Sam blew out the breath he had been holding.

The elevator shuddered again and dropped with a jerk. Sam braced himself against the walls, the wheelchair slamming into his shins.

"Great," he mumbled.

"Sam! Sam, can you hear me!" Dean's voice came through muffled but clear enough.

"Yeah!" Sam shouted at the ceiling. "You coming or what?"

"Working on it!" came Dean's answer. "Just got the doors open a crack. Hang on!"

"And where am I going to go?" Sam demanded of the wheelchair. He shrugged, checking the wheel-locks. The chair was pretty stable with them on, not perfect but maybe good enough. He positioned it directly underneath the panel he figured was probably a trap-door.

Sam stepped onto the wheelchair, his balance more shaky than he remembered. The panel didn't just push out, the way it did in the movies. Oh, no, this one had to be screwed in. Probably some stupid safety measure. He reached for his pocket, for the lockpick kit. Instead he got a handful of soft cloth and a breeze across his backside. He really shouldn't have let them give him that happy-juice. Well, hindsight was 20/20, and he had to admit his head felt a lot better.

Down to just his hands to use as tools, Sam beat on the panel. It started to give, but made an awful racket.

"I said I'm working on it, Sam!" Dean shouted.

"I heard you!" Sam shouted back, still whaling on the panel.

-

* * *

"He heard me," Dean grumbled, pulling back on the fire axe wedged between the elevator doors. "That's why he's making all that noise. Because he heard me." He grunted, yanking on the axe handle again. Large cuts and dents were in the doors, but just hitting them with the axe didn't do any good. He had to pry the doors open.

The noises coming from the elevator shaft were not doing anything to ease his conscience, either. The way Lily's namebadge flew off like that, it wasn't normal. It had to be the gremlin. Gritting his teeth, Dean pulled harder on the axe. Where was Lily with that help?

Sweat trickled into his eyes, but he did not have a free hand to wipe it away. The elevator just below him groaned. When he got his hands on that frigging gremlin…

"Dean!" Several people ran toward him.

"About time," he groaned. "Hurry up! My brother is down there!" With a gremlin out to get him.

Two pairs of strong hands took over the axe handle, prying the doors open wide enough for a man to fit through. Dean shucked his jacket.

"Hang on, Sam! I'm coming down now!" Dean positioned himself between the doors. The top of the elevator was not that far, maybe eight or ten feet. What floor were they on again? Fifth or sixth? He took a deep breath, preparing to jump, when the shaft filled with the screech of metal on metal.

The sound pierced through his ears, drove deep into his brain. He staggered back, hands covering his ears. Below him, the elevator dropped freely, along with his stomach.

The doors slammed shut again when the guys holding open the doors covered their ears too. The sounds of the elevator hitting something solid was following by a profound silence. The silence rung in his ears, stupefied his brain.

"Sam!" His scream filled the hall, causing movement and motion. He led the others in racing for the stairwell. They had to get to Sam.

-

* * *

Okay, so maybe standing on a wheelchair was a really, really bad idea. He needed to file that one away for future reference. That panel that Sam had been so worried about hung open now, dangling from one of those stupid screws. Yeah, that was a great safety feature. He needed to write a letter. To somebody.

Sam tried to move, but his whole body hurt. He needed to move, to find a way out, but he hurt. When he tried to move the wheelchair off his chest, his vision went white with the pain and he nearly passed out. Or did he pass out? It was hard to tell.

-

* * *

It liked watching things fall, break. That was good. Explosions were better, but harder. This was hard. It had hoped for a good boom for all the work this took to make the box fall.

It liked flying machines better. Those were easier to knock down. These boxes were hard. It scratched its head, enjoying being able to take care of that itch. Now it wondered if the tall one died. That would be good. When it tried to peek inside, see if things were safe, it heard the other one shouting. The one who hurt it was usually around the other one, so it scrambled back up the shaft. It could wait to find out if the tall one died. Until then, it would hide. It was really, really good at hiding.

-

* * *

"Sam!" Dean beat on the basement elevator doors. "Sam!"

"What?"

Dean sagged against the outer doors in relief. "Are you hurt?" he demanded through the doors.

"I'm fine."

Dean recognized that voice. Sam was hiding something. His pulse quickened with the realization and Dean cast his eyes around for something to pry open the doors. There was no fire axe here, just an extinguisher. Why did he leave that upstairs?

"Dean!" Bobby burst through the doors. Where the hell did he come from? Carrying a crowbar? "Here!" He tossed it in the air.

Dean snagged the metal from the air. "Thanks." He attacked the doors with it. Bobby rushed to his side to help. They grunted together, straining against the doors. "Bobby?" he hissed through clenched teeth.

"Yeah?" Bobby huffed.

"Never left," he said between grunts, "did you?"

"Nope." He felt Bobby press harder against the crowbar. "Sat…in…truck."

"Why?" Dean grunted, feeling the doors begin to give way.

A rough chuckle rumbled through Bobby's grunts. He paused, looking over at Dean. "The gremlin. Did you really think I'd leave you two alone here with a gremlin after Sam?"

Dean really had to stop underestimating Bobby. "Push, Bobby. Sam's hurt."

"Sorry." He could tell Bobby really threw his weight behind it then and the doors opened enough for Dean to put both hands in. With Bobby's help, he pressed the doors apart.

In front of them Sam laid in a crumpled heap. Oh, crap. He rushed inside to place a gentle hand over Sam's chest.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked, not opening his eyes.

"Checking to see if you're breathing," he snapped.

"Couldn't talk if I wasn't breathing," Sam answered.

"Why won't you open your eyes?" Dean demanded, alarmed.

Sam sighed, head rolling from side to side. He squinted up at Dean. "Headache." His eyes shut as he waved a hand up. "Too much light."

"Come on, princess. Let's get you up so the doc can check you out," he said, trying to inject authority in his voice.

"Don't!" Another voice shouted. Dean glared back through the doors Bobby held open. It was one of the ER doctors. "Don't move him!" The man ducked under Bobby's arms. He waved to the others behind him, two men carrying a stretcher.

"Sorry we took so long, Dean," an orderly apologized as he pushed by Dean. "But we had to stop for the doctor and this." He lifted the stretcher briefly.

Dean stepped back to help Bobby with the doors. With Bobby on one side and him on the other, they forced the doors to fully open. Dean felt the tension on the doors ease as he shoved his side fully open.

"Stay there," Bobby cautioned. Dean shot him a hard look. "Never know when a gremlin might get into the doors."

One of the orderlies shook a hand at them. "No kidding! Keep on those doors until we get Sam out of here."

Dean clenched his jaw but he stayed right in front of his door while Bobby did the same on the other side. They loaded Sam on the stretcher, one of those whip-lash thingies around his neck. After they carried his brother out, Dean remained at his station in front of the door. It would take a few minutes to carry Sam upstairs anyway.

"Uh, Bobby? You know, I probably shouldn't…" He was really bad at this. "I mean, I…"

"Dean. Shut up." Bobby gave him a shove toward the stairwell. "And next time I start in on Sam when he's in the hospital, I expect you to knock me on my ass."

Dean glanced back to see if Bobby was serious. There was a twinkle in his eyes. Well, at least they were good. He shared a chuckle with Bobby up the stairs. They did not dare stray too far from Sam.

"Any new ideas?" Dean asked as they jogged up the stairs.

"Get Sam back to the house and take care of this thing," Bobby grunted. When Dean gave him a quizzical look, Bobby shrugged. "We know he's safer there than here."

Dean nodded. That was pretty obvious now.


	30. Chapter 30

Sorry for the delay! Big thanks, as always, to my intrepid editor **_hotshow_**, and on this chapter to **_chariskalos_** for some editing, suggestions, and that swift kick I needed to get this chapter done!

**Chapter Thirty**

Dean stood by anxiously as Doc Wayne and George set up all the stuff they needed for Sam. He memorized Doc Wayne's instructions as Sam blinked unfocused eyes from the hospital bed set up in the den. Sam's mouth opened a couple of times, as though he wanted to speak. The fact that Sam didn't was worrying.

Doc Wayne and George made arrangements to stay at Bobby's in shifts for a couple of days, to spell Dean and Bobby from caring for Sam full-time. It wasn't that Sam was hurt that bad, just that much. Sam had bruises over most of his body, several ribs and one thigh bruised right down to the bone. His brother couldn't even walk to the bathroom by himself right now. The fact that Sam still couldn't look anyone in the eye did not help matters.

Dean waited until the doctors left, with promises for George to return later, then sat by his brother's bed.

"Hey, Sam. Need anything?" he asked, anxious to do something. Sitting around waiting was not exactly his favorite pastime.

Sam groaned, head rolling from side to side. After a moment Sam stopped moving, sound asleep. The trip to Bobby's probably took a lot out of his little brother. Dean flipped through one of Bobby's books while he waited. Ugh. Did Bobby really read this stuff? It was nearly an hour before Sam moved again.

"Sam?" This was not the best time to do it, but Dean didn't think he could wait any longer. "You awake?"

Sam's eyes fluttered open. "Only because you won't shut up." He frowned at Dean. "What's wrong?"

Dean had to swallow hard to get past the lump in his throat. "I, uh, wanted to say that…you know. I'm…" He took a deep breath, let it out. "I'm sorry."

Sam's eyebrows drew together, creating the crease in his forehead that spelled confusion. "It got the best of us, Dean. If you were in the elevator with me, you'd just be beaten to hell too."

"Not that," Dean replied with a shake of his head. "Well, yeah, that too. I meant that I'm sorry for yelling at you. In the kitchen. I guess you were right."

Sam lifted one arm, a large black and purple bruise covering his forearm, to press his palm against his temple. "In the kitchen?" His eyes blinked slowly and deliberately. "You mean when we spotted the gremlin?" He stared at Dean for a long minute. "What was I right about? All I remember is you going on about, uh…" Sam's face scrunched in concentration. "About me thinking you're going to let me down." His face relaxed as his eyes opened. "Right?"

Dean nodded, avoiding direct eye contact. "Yeah. That."

"What about it?"

Dean dragged his eyes from the floor. Sam looked serious. "Are you kidding?" Dean asked.

Sam shook his head slowly, probably not able to do it faster without too much pain. "No I'm not kidding. What was that about, Dean?" When he did not answer right away, Sam repeated, "Dean?"

He started this, so Dean supposed it was too late to play stupid or too emotionally repressed to say it. "That you were right," he said with a shrug, forcing himself to look at Sam. "You should assume that I'll let you down. I guess that's why you got me to make that promise."

Sam's mouth dropped open. "What?" Dean demanded. "Surprised I noticed?" He rubbed his hands against his jeans, they were leaking with sweat. "Eventually I let everybody down. I guess that's why everybody leaves, sooner or later."

Sam groaned. Dean jumped to his feet. "Sammy? What is it?"

"You!" Sam snapped. He glared at Dean. "I can't believe… Dean! Is that why you think I got you to make that promise? Because I think you can't save me?"

Did Sam really expect him to answer that?

"Dean, honestly, I'm not sure anyone can save me. But if anyone is capable of it, that person would be you, Dean." Sam pushed himself into a sitting position, grimacing. "You. That's why I wanted you to make that promise. Because there isn't anyone I trust more."

He felt heat creeping into his cheeks. "Lay down, Sam," Dean ordered, pushing his brother back into the bed. "You should rest."

"And I won't leave again," Sam muttered. "Not like that." Sam's chest expanded in a deep breath and his eyes closed slowly. "Promise. Never again."

Dean pushed the hair out of Sam's eyes. "I just might hold you to that one, little brother."

-

* * *

Sam pretended to sleep while Dean stood over him. So, that was what was really bothering his big brother, the promise. Well, okay, so maybe it should be the cause for some concern, but not to the point of making Dean change. Not like that. All he really wanted out of it was a safety net, a guarantee that he couldn't hurt anyone. Yeah, maybe that implied that Dean couldn't save him, but he really didn't think Dean would get that part. That's what he got for selling his brother short. Again.

He waited for Dean to leave the room, even if it was just to take a leak, but it didn't happen. Sam had no idea how long Dean stood there, just watching him pretend to sleep, but at some point he must have dropped off. When he opened his eyes it was dark outside and George held his wrist, checking his pulse.

"Where's my brother?" Sam asked.

George smiled at him. "In the kitchen getting something to eat. He'll be back out in a minute. It took both Bobby and Mike to get him out of here for a few minutes." George set his hand back down. "He'll probably be furious he wasn't here when you woke up."

Sam managed a grin. "Probably." Despite his best efforts not to, Sam found that he was watching the doorway for his big brother.

"He's been here all day, Sam. Besides," George blew out a large breath, "Mike is in there. You know what those two are like." George's eyes rolled expressively.

Sam chuckled. "Ow." He pressed a hand against his bruised ribcage. "God, how does Dean do it with broken ribs?"

"My guess?" George glanced around, as if Dean might pop out of a shadow. "Very carefully."

Sam chuckled again, the pain rocketing through his side, but at the moment he did not care.

"Thought I heard voices," Dean declared as he blew into the room, larger than life. Sam could not help but smile. "About time you woke up. I was ready to break out the ice water." Dean held up a bowl of chili. "Hungry?"

"Yeah." Sam nodded at his brother. "I am."

"Good." Dean jerked his head at George. "George'd love to get some for you."

"I can take a hint." George headed out the door. "Crackers?"

Sam nodded, thanking George with his eyes. "What's going on, Dean?" Dean lifted an eyebrow, chewing a mouthful of chili. "With the gremlin."

"Mmmm." Dean swallowed. "Bobby finished up in the yard about an hour ago."

"Finished?" Sam tried to push himself up into a sitting position. "What do you mean?"

"The thing. You know, the symbol." Sam stared at his brother. Maybe he did get hit on the head too hard this time. "Out of the cars, Sam." Dean waved a chili-spotted spoon toward the window.

"Oh, right. That symbol." Sam settled back into the pillows. "I don't suppose he mentioned why he picked one that complicated?"

Dean shook his head, digging in the chili with his spoon. "Nope, but he simplified it now. It was taking too long to build."

Sam wanted to make a sarcastic comment about why Bobby couldn't have done that before he wound up in the hospital, but he didn't. Everyone seemed to be getting along at the moment, why screw that up? So Sam just nodded.

"What's the plan?" he asked instead.

Dean shrugged. "We don't have one."

Sam stared at his brother. "So we're just going to sit around and wait for it to come after us again?"

"You," Dean pointed at Sam with a full spoon of chili, "are just going to sit around and wait inside, where it's safe. Bobby will come up with something."

"You seem pretty content to let other people do all the planning," Sam observed. Dean shrugged as another spoon of chili made its way into that bottomless cavern his brother called a mouth. Maybe that was the real reason Dean and Dad always got along, because Dean never questioned the man, always did exactly what Dad wanted, let Dad make all the plans. "What if we set it up?" Sam asked as an idea formed. "Choose exactly where and when we want to face it?"

"We?" The bowl of chili looked like it might go sailing into a wall. "What's this we? You are staying in that bed."

"Hang on, Dean," Sam held up a hand. "At least hear me out."

Dean leaned against the wall, glaring at him. He'd better make this good. "Well?" Dean demanded.

"I'm thinking," Sam said, waving to his brother to wait a moment. "Just give me a minute."

Dean snorted, the bowl of chili lowering for his brother to take another bite. "I have a line on a good helmet, by the way."

Sam sent a death-glare at his brother, which made Dean grin. "I can sit out in the yard, in the middle of the symbol. When the gremlin comes after me, you and Bobby can take it out." There, that wiped the smirk off his brother's face.

"No." Dean dug his spoon into the chili again.

"No what, Dean?" Bobby asked, carrying a bowl on a plate. Sam noticed a line of crackers arranged around the bowl. "You gonna help with this bed, or does Sam get to eat his chili through a straw?"

Dean scowled, but he set his bowl on a stack of nearby books. Sam anticipated the pain that would accompany the bed moving, but Dean was careful and smooth and the change in position actually felt better.

"I'm good," he said motioning for the bowl. The rich aroma of stewed meat made his mouth water. "You're not telling Doc Wayne I'm eating this, are you?"

"He said you can eat whatever you want, as long as the meds don't make you nauseous," Dean replied. "Besides, he won't have to clean up the mess, so it's kind of my call."

Sam grinned. "I guess that means I get whatever I want?"

"Knowing your brother," Bobby muttered, though his voice carried clearly through the room, "I'd say yes."

Sam's arm had a dull ache as he lifted a spoonful of the thick chili to his mouth. Not too spicy, not too hot, but definitely not bland either. Really good flavor. "Wow," he mumbled around his mouthful.

"Pretty good, huh?" Dean asked, his eyes sparkling. "It's Bobby's recipe."

"Speaking of Bobby," Sam glanced over, guilt creeping up again. "I kind of owe you an apology, for being a pain in the ass."

Dean snorted over his chili.

"Don't worry about it, Sam." Bobby smiled at him. "But," he raised a warning finger, "you ever act up in the ER again, I will put you over my knee no matter what that brother of yours says."

Sam felt the heat creep into his cheeks as his eyes dropped.

"Bobby…" It was the tone Dean used on Dad when Dad needed to be persuaded. It made that spot in his stomach lurch again. "Let's cut Sam some slack here. It's not like he…"

"Forget it, Dean," Bobby snapped. "Sam just made number two." Bobby spun on him. "And you better stay in that bed, hear me?"

Sam nodded, shocked. What the heck was that all about? He guessed it meant he needed to come up with a new plan for the gremlin before it found a way past Bobby's defenses.

"Good. Well, we have guests. I'll be back to check on you two in a bit." Bobby's heavy steps headed out of the room.

"Damn," Dean breathed. Sam dredged his eyes from Bobby's retreating back. "Sorry, Sam. I didn't see that one coming."

"Number two?" Sam asked, not comprehending. "On his hit list?"

"You wish," Dean replied with a heavy sigh. "It's his priority list."

"Huh?" Sam stared. Did his brother really look embarrassed?

Dean took a seat on the end of Sam's bed. He fidgeted, clearly agitated. "He means that if he thinks you're hurt and you won't own up, he'll back you into a corner and make you strip so he can check." Uncomfortable green-flecked eyes met his own.

"That…that…" Sam had no words. Not for this. Did Dean really expect him to allow something like that to happen? That sounded more like… "That sounds like Dad."

Dean nodded. "Where do you think he got the idea?"

Sam felt his eyes widen. "Dad did that? When? Where? And why would Bobby know about it when I didn't?"

Dean squirmed again. Sam wanted to press, but he knew that was the quickest way to get his brother to shut down. One hand reached up to rub at the back of Dean's neck.

"Because you were at school, and it happened right over there." Dean motioned to a corner of the room, his eyes dropping away.

"Huh." Sam relaxed back into his bed, a smile forming on his face.

"What?" Dean demanded, looking up. "Believe me, Sam, it's not a good thing."

"Sure it is," Sam replied, still smiling. "Because now I get it."

Now it was Dean's turn to be confused. "What are you talking about?"

"That's how Bobby got you to admit to the ribs when we first got here, right?" Sam asked, knowing he was right from Dean's brief reaction. "So now I get it."

"Get what, Sam?" Dean demanded.

Sam locked into his brother's gaze. "Why you would tell Bobby you were hurt instead of me. So where are you on this priority list?"

Dean shoveled in more chili, shrugging. Sam wondered if Bobby would tell him, since it was pretty clear they were both on his list. If Sam was number two, there was only one place for Dean, especially if Dean made it on the list before him. First. That was why Dean wouldn't tell him. "You're number one, aren't you?"

Sam grinned as Dean squirmed again. "You are!" He didn't know why it surprised him, but it did. It also explained an awful lot. His relief came out as a loud laugh, which ripped right down his side and stole his breath.

"Easy, Sammy, easy," Dean's voice penetrated the pain. "You can't just laugh like that, you know."

"You…do…" he huffed, trying to draw in air. Damn, this hurt!

"Yeah, well, I've had a lot more practice," Dean said, but his brother did not sound angry, just stating a fact. "Easy, you're going to spill your chili."

Sam forced himself to take slow, easy breaths. The pain lessened to the point he could open his eyes again. Dean hovered over him, hands on his shoulders holding him down. Sam took another breath, just to make sure. He nodded at his brother. "I'm okay now."

Dean glared for a moment before moving away with a nod. He picked up his bowl and resumed eating, even before his ass hit the end of Sam's bed.

Sam glanced down at his supper. He picked it up, slowly. They ate in silence for a while. George and Mike dropped in for an hour or so to keep him company. Before they left, Dean ran upstairs to grab a shower. George checked him over again while Dean was upstairs.

"You waited for Dean to leave?" Sam asked, incredulous, as George prodded his side yet again.

"Of course I did," George said in his good-natured voice. "Dean says you've been poked enough."

"So why are you…" Sam broke off to hiss through his teeth as George hit a particularly sensitive spot.

"Because I'd rather risk this than miss something more seriously wrong with you," George replied.

"You got that right," Mike said. "Dean'd kick your ass from here to the coast if you missed something with Sam."

"I know it," George replied. "That's why I asked you to come along." His cold fingers checked Sam's bruised arm.

Mike snorted from his position in the doorway. "You really think I'd stand between you and Dean?"

"Nope," George said. "I think you'd stand between Dean and somebody who didn't deserve the beating he was going to get."

Mike chuckled. "Yeah? Think again."

George's eyes flitted over to Mike before landing on Sam again. "He thinks that's funny."

Sam shook his head. "I'm not sure he was kidding, George."

Some of the color drained from George's face before Sam decided to let him off the hook. He exchanged a look with Mike as he grinned. "Relax, George. You act like Dean is an escaped mental patient or something."

George shrugged.

"Hey!" Dean barked as he rounded the corner into the room, wet hair plastered to his head. "I saw that."

George cringed, one hand whipping back to grab the sheet to cover Sam's legs again.

"Don't do that unless you're finished," Dean snapped, leaning against the entryway.

Sam watched, amused, as George shook his head. "I'm done."

"And?" Dean demanded. He might sound harsh, but Sam recognized that as his brother's worried voice.

"I didn't find anything new," George replied strongly.

"Good." Dean sounded much calmer this time. He strode forward to stand next to George. "Thanks for coming by."

All the tension flowed out of George's frame. "Sure. No problem."

After Dean escorted Mike and George to their car, apparently they had come together in the squad car, his brother came back to take his place in an easy chair next to Sam's bed.

"So. How are you feeling?" Dean asked, sounding casual, like Sam was laid up in a hospital bed in Bobby's den everyday. Now that was a disturbing thought.

"Better," Sam admitted. "You know," he dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "I still think you could scare Bobby. If you wanted to." Then he thought back to Bobby barreling up the stairs, searching for Dean. "Come to think of it, I think you did."

"What?" Dean looked puzzled, shifting in his chair, probably searching for a more comfortable position. "How could I scare Bobby?"

"When you went out the window. I don't think I've ever heard Bobby huff and puff like that before," Sam mused. "I'm pretty sure you scared him. You wouldn't have done that to Dad."

Dean's eyes sparkled. "Don't bet on that. Nobody ever ordered me to bed."

Sam suppressed his chuckle, not wanting his bruised ribs to make breathing impossible. "Don't tell me that you ever actually pulled something like that with Dad."

Dean smiled, resting back into the worn chair. "Well, now that I have a captive audience…" Sam grinned. He would worry about convincing Dean and Bobby of his plan to trap the gremlin later. Right now seemed like a good time to just be brothers.


	31. Chapter 31

Big thanks, as always, to my intrepid editor **_hotshow_**, and on this chapter to **_chariskalos_** for her amazing positive support. There will probably only be one or two more chapters for this fic.

**Chapter Thirty-one**

Sam peered through barely slitted eyelids. Ah! Alone at last. He threw the sheet off his legs and swung out of bed. With a quick glance around, Sam pushed off onto his feet. A wave of dizziness washed over him, but it disappeared much faster this afternoon than this morning.

He stepped carefully, testing legs and balance with each movement. His whole body had a permanent ache now, but it was tolerable. Sometimes, if he ignored it, Sam could pretend nothing even hurt. He went through a series of range of motion exercises still testing his limits, his boundaries.

If he couldn't move out of this stupid hospital bed, he had no chance of convincing his brother and Bobby of his plan to take down that gremlin. After the elevator, Sam even dreamed about how he could take out that furry monster.

"Come on, Dean," Bobby's voice cut through the still air, "I can handle it."

"No, Bobby. Just. No!" The kitchen door slammed.

"But Dean, it could be really useful," Bobby argued.

Sam glanced back at his bed, debating on whether or not to climb back in. He didn't have much time. Choosing to stand his ground, Sam looked curiously towards the sounds approaching him.

"What are you doing up?" Dean asked. His brother didn't sound upset, though, just curious.

Sam smiled. "I'm feeling pretty good today."

"Don't over do it," Dean said, taking a seat.

"Come on, Dean." Bobby stood in front of Dean, still arguing. "I swear, it'll work."

"No, Bobby." Dean shook his head, leaning back and closing his eyes.

"What's going on?" Sam asked.

One of Dean's hands waved in the air. "Go on, Bobby. Tell him." Eyes still closed, Dean smirked. "I want to hear what Sam has to say."

Bobby turned around to face Sam. "Fine. I'm sure Sam will see reason." Bobby cleared his throat, casting a nervous glance at Dean before continuing. "I want to catch the gremlin."

"Don't we all want that?" Sam asked tentatively.

Dean's eyes flew open. "He doesn't want to kill it, Sam. He wants to keep it."

"Keep it?" Sam felt his eyes widen. "What do you mean, keep it?" What the hell was this about?

"He means," Dean leaned forward, a sour look on his face, "that he thinks he can train the damn thing. Like a dog."

Sam laughed, he couldn't help it. "This is a joke, right? You two came up with this outside?"

Dean shook his head, leaning back again. "I've been trying to talk him out of this stupid idea since this morning," Dean groaned. "Your turn."

"Bobby, why would you want a gremlin in the first place?" Sam asked, figuring if he could get to the root of the problem maybe he could find a solution that did not involve trying to tame a gremlin. And he used to think Dean had some bad ideas!

"Just picture it, Sam," Bobby held his hands up, like he was looking through a window into the future, "next time a werewolf shows its face, we let the gremlin out and sic it on the werewolf." Bobby smiled at his vision of a gremlin fighting on his side.

"Bobby?" Sam said quietly. "You do realize this thing isn't a Rottweiler, right? It's a gremlin who has been trying to kill me for a few weeks now."

The smile dropped from Bobby's face. "Well…yeah." His hands lowered slowly, brows drawing close together. "They're probably not as bright as a Rott anyway."

Dean winked at Sam. "Probably not. So do I get to kill it now?"

Bobby let out a deep sigh. "Yeah. I guess so."

"I have an idea about that," Sam offered. This appeared to be the perfect opportunity.

"Don't start, Sammy," Dean said in that warning voice.

"Look," Sam walked the length of the room and back. "I really am better. I'm not suggesting that I try to take it on myself, even though I'd really like to." He paused, a flare of anger interrupting his thoughts momentarily. "But I want to be a part of taking it out." He locked eyes with Dean. "For good."

Dean glanced over to Bobby, apparently wanting Bobby's view first.

Bobby scowled, shifted around uncomfortable as though his clothes were terribly tight, scratched the side of his head. "I don't like it, Sam."

"Me either." Dean jumped to his feet. "But I got an idea. I'll be Sam."

"You'll what?" Sam asked, his voice blending with Bobby's.

"It's perfect. I'll dress up in Sam's clothes, I don't know, maybe a wig? Then again, if this thing is more like a dog than a human, all I'll really need to do is smell like Sam." Sam stared at his brother in amazement. Dean was actually serious. "Shouldn't be too hard, all I need is some girl shampoo."

"Dean…"

His brother held up a hand to his protests. "I'm not finished yet, Sam. You and Bobby will be hiding close by. When it comes after me, you two can take it out. See? It's perfect. You'll even be able to help kill it."

Actually, that did sound like a pretty good plan. Sam waited to hear Bobby's pronouncement since Dean was number one on Bobby's list now.

"Think you can use a shotgun yet?" Bobby asked slowly, turning to face Sam.

"Probably not," Sam admitted, not wanting them to depend too much on him for their own sakes, "but I think I can handle Dean's gun with the holy water bullets."

"Done." Dean slipped the weapon out of his waistband, handing it over to Sam. "So, when do we do this?"


	32. Chapter 32

Big thanks to everyone follow this! This is the last chapter of ML, and it's been fun. BIG thanks to _**hotshow**_ my intrepid editor, without whom there would not have been a _Lil' Sammy_ or _Murphy's Law_, and _**charis-kalos**_ for her continual 'positive reinforcement'. (I'm not allowed to say 'swift kick'.) And yes, there are more irons in the fire. A new chapter of L&D will post soon and I have some brand new stories getting ready to make an appearance.

**Chapter Thirty-two**

Dean held the dark wig up next to Sam's head, measuring the length. Sam scowled. He hated the pleased look on Dean's face right now.

"Another inch?" Dean asked, eyes darting between him and the wig.

"Probably," Mike said from over Dean's shoulder. Although Sam liked seeing that Dean had an actual friend, he couldn't help the pang of jealousy. Mike and Dean even moved alike, as if Dad had raised them both. They sat at Bobby's kitchen table, Mike holding the wig as Dean trimmed the ends.

"This would be easier if you wore it," Dean said, snipping away.

"Nice try," Mike replied. "Just because you have to dress in drag doesn't mean I do."

Dean shot Mike a glare. "I'll just be wearing a wig. That doesn't count as being in drag."

Mike grinned, eyes glittering with humor. "Sure it does. Aren't you the one always calling Sam a girl?"

"Hey!" Sam had just about enough of this. "I volunteered to sit out there, you know."

Mike and Dean both ignored him.

"What if it smells you?" Mike asked. "It probably has Sam's scent."

Dean shrugged. "I'm going to wear some of Sam's clothes."

"You are?" Sam and Mike asked together.

Mike chuckled. "Now this I have to see."

Dean paused in his wig trimming. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Let's face it Dean, you're going to look like a kid playing dress-up in Sam's clothes." Mike laughed at Dean's obvious discomfort. "Let's hope this thing is as stupid as you think it is."

"Oh, it is," Bobby said, the door swinging closed behind him. "But these will help." Bobby held out two plastic items in camo green and tan.

Curious, Sam picked one up. "The Natural Way? Mask your scent while hunting, works for most wildlife." Sam looked hard at Bobby. "To use against the gremlin?"

Bobby nodded, beaming. "I ran across an ad a few months back and ordered a few. Nearly forgot about the damn things until this morning. I've talked to a few hunters, our kind of hunters, who've used them. Not worth a damn against vampires, but works pretty well against most other things."

Dean turned the other one over in his hands. "You know, this might've been useful in the hospital."

"I know, damn it." Bobby blew out a sigh. "That's why hindsight is twenty-twenty."

Dean shrugged, setting it down on the table to return his attentions to the wig. Sam marveled over the fact Dean did not chew Bobby out for forgetting something like that. Then he remembered that Dean was first on Bobby's priority list. Maybe that accounted for the added leniency? Dean understood that Bobby honestly forgot?

"Hey," Mike spoke up, "now you don't have to play dress-up." Dean raised an eyebrow but concentrated on the task at hand. "You won't have to wear Sam's clothes."

"Oh, speaking of which." Bobby slammed a bottle of shampoo on the table. It had a picture of a woman with long, luxurious hair on the front. "You can thank Mike for bringing that."

Startled, Sam checked the faces around him. They all looked at him, expectantly. If it were anyone but Mike, Sam would probably be pissed. Who was he to alienate the one real friend Dean had? Okay, fine, he could deal."Well," he said slowly, "I guess I should be grateful it wasn't baby shampoo."

Dean beamed at him. "Now why didn't I think of that? Hey, Bobby, you still have those fingerpaints?"

"Hell no," Bobby snapped. "Does this look like a daycare to you?"

Dean chuckled, checking the wig over again. "I think this thing is about ready. What do you think, Bobby?"

Bobby picked it up, held it next to Sam's head. He shrugged. "Works for me. The real question is, will it work for the gremlin?"

Dean's face shifted into something serious, the way his brother always looked right before they had to face something down. "Let's go find out."

-

* * *

Mike rubbed his sweaty palm off on his pants. He found himself wishing he had one of those things that covered your scent. The last thing he wanted was for this gremlin to get fixated on him. Stalkers were bad enough, he couldn't imagine what Dean and Sam had been through in all their years of hunting.

He shifted the shotgun to his other hand in order to rub that palm off too. This was his biggest weakness in law enforcement, and he knew it. Mike hated stakeouts. He hated the waiting. Much more at home kicking in doors or high speed chases, the waiting game got to him every time. Nothing ever seemed to phase Reid, though. So why didn't he tell his partner about this? Just because Dean didn't specifically ask for Reid? No, that wasn't it. Mike had a pretty good feeling Reid would have been welcomed on this one. He shifted in his hiding place, one eye on Dean.

Dean wore the wig and he really did look like a shorter version of Sam. Mike smiled at the comparison. How much of Sam's innocent looks were actually just because of the way he chose to wear his hair and clothes? Dean always looked ready to rumble, while Sam appeared to be a college student on break. Neither was really accurate. Which brought him back to Reid.

Reid didn't want him doing this. That was the real reason Mike didn't call his mentor and partner. He wanted to do this, to learn what he could from Dean before the brothers left. He knew Dean couldn't stay in one place too long, had seen the signs from the guys' last visit to their uncle. Before they finished restoring that car, Dean got so antsy he was going on long drives in the Impala just to feel the road under him.

Mike wondered what it would take for the gremlin to come out of hiding. At least then he would have something to do and he could watch Dean in action. Was there a way to coax it out? Maybe they could scatter some of Sam's clothes around to really tempt it? Mike tried to get a glimpse of Bobby in the hiding place off Dean's left, but that guy could really hide. Damn.

As he considered using his cell to call Bobby or Dean with his idea, Mike heard an odd sound. His eyes scoured the automotive heaps surrounding them. Nothing appeared out of order, but Mike hadn't dealt with anything like this before. What did he know? Trusting his instincts, Mike crept slowly from his post to investigate the sound. It seemed to come from near where they had Sam tucked away. Sam had insisted on being in direct line of sight of Dean, to keep an eye on his brother.

He tried to walk like Reid. His partner was almost silent when he wanted to be. Unfortunately Mike had not mastered that yet, but he tried. As he crept closer to Sam's spot he heard wind blowing. Looking around, Mike could not see signs of even a breeze. All the hair stood up on his arms as all the muscles in his body tensed. Yeah, this couldn't be good. Two careful steps closer to Sam's position did not reveal anything new, but Mike couldn't shake the feeling he was being watched and he still heard wind.

Now the feeling of being watched was heavy, crushing. Mike turned slowly, looking right into yellow jagged teeth heavy with black plaque. He froze. They stood watching each other for what felt like hours. It was big. Really big. Huge. And it stank. Too terrified to think, Mike stood there like an idiot trying really hard not to move, not to set it off.

"Get down!" Sam's voice rang out through the salvage yard. Mike dropped, rolling away from the creature. He hit his knees as gunshots rang out over his head. Lifting his shotgun, Mike tried to take aim but there was nothing to aim at. Dazed, he looked around for the gremlin.

"Sam!" Dean shouted as he slid over the car closest to Mike, heading for Sam's spot. Just behind him Bobby raced around the empty car husks. Mike followed Bobby as he ran past, heart drumming in his chest.

"Sam!" Dean shouted again, upping Mike's anxiety level. Mike rounded the next stack of cars to see Dean dive shoulder first into a nasty, shaggy mess. His and Bobby's shotguns snapped into position together.

Mike circled around, trying to get a clear shot. The gremlin shrugged off Dean, as if someone hit it with a sack of flour. It took Dean a long moment and a grimace to get up again. The gremlin went after Sam again, slashing out with its claws. Sam jumped backward but not far enough. One of the claws snagged on Sam's jacket. Dean looked ready to charge it again, but Mike finally had a clear shot. He gave it both barrels, right in the stomach. Assuming gremlins had stomachs.

The gremlin staggered back as Dean glanced his way with a quick nod. Thin wisps of smoke came up from where the rocksalt rounds hit. Dean backed away, signaling to both Bobby and Sam. Bobby fired into the body of the gremlin as Sam leveled his handgun at it. The gremlin looked pretty miserable before Sam started firing. It seemed to be searching for a way out, but Mike knew that once Bobby determined that the gremlin was within the symbol, Bobby had moved the last piece in place to close it in. It was all or nothing now.

Each round Sam fired caused the gremlin to jerk unnaturally, if that word could be applied to something like it. Another gun appeared in Dean's hand and the brothers advanced on the creature together, taking turns firing at it. Sam's shots seemed to cause more damage, but Dean's certainly weren't doing it any good. Both guns were empty by the time it slumped to the ground and Bobby was beaming triumphantly, like he was personally responsible for killing it. Weird.

"I'll get the kerosene!" Bobby shouted, running for the shed near the house.

"What's that for?" Mike asked, not really caring who answered.

"We need to burn it," Sam replied, eyes pinned to the fallen creature. "That's the only way to be sure."

Mike filed that information away for future reference. He wondered if Reid knew about burning stuff.

Bobby was breathing pretty hard when he came back carrying a large can.

"Damn, Bobby," Dean snapped. "One of us could've gotten that." Dean took it from the older man to pour over the prone form of the gremlin. When the kerosene met the dark, matted fur it started to smoke. Dean exchanged a look with Sam, who jumped back a few steps. From a distance, Dean threw more kerosene on the creature while Sam lit a match. The lit match arched through the air, kerosene igniting before the match could touch the body.

All of the men moved backward as the gremlin's body caught fire. It twitched as flames engulfed it, sparks flying outward to land harmlessly on rusting steel. Mike tore his eyes from the sight to check on the others. Bobby looked pretty much the way he always did, but perhaps a little reluctant. Sam appeared triumphant, the battle over evil won. Dean looked, well, intense. Deep hazel-green eyes stared into the flames, daring the nasty to get back up, come after his brother again. In that moment Mike figured he had a glimpse of what Sam's brother was really like, and was grateful to be on the man's good side.

"Well, now we know the bullets work," Dean muttered as they watched it burn. Mike figured he could ask about that later.

-

* * *

Bobby had to admit that Mike had been a help. He had wondered about the boy, even though he was handpicked by Reid. After the fiasco with his last partner, Reid had waited a long time before hiring another. Or perhaps Reid had just been searching for the right person, which he finally found in Mike. Either way, Bobby approved. The kid was good in a pinch. He could stand a little more patience, but he was definitely reliable when you needed it.

Before he left, Mike took Dean aside for a good ten minutes or so. Bobby couldn't resist eavesdropping.

"How's the side?"

Dean snorted. "No problem."

"Yeah, right." Mike did not sound convinced. "You are planning to hang out for a little while, until those ribs have a real chance to heal?"

Now Dean chuckled. "Dude, that was the whole point in coming here in the first place. You saw how well that worked out."

"You can't blame Bobby for that," Mike argued. Bless that boy. Bobby always liked him. "Besides, you still owe me a rematch."

"Been practicing?" Dean asked.

"You know it. So? Staying?" Mike pressed.

Dean cleared his throat. "Well, I should probably check with Sam."

Mike snorted. "That brother of yours is still beat to hell. You could both use at least a few weeks."

"If I agree, will you quit nagging me?" Dean asked, not sounding irritated at all.

"Only if you promise me that rematch. Next weekend? I can probably arrange for George to join us, too."

Dean laughed. "Yeah, sure. Now get the hell out of here."

Mike laughed too. "Great. See you two later."

Bobby ducked back down the hall until the front door closed. He sauntered out, doing his best to appear innocent. "Mike leave?"

Dean turned, one eyebrow lifted. "You know he did. You were hiding around the corner."

Bobby did not even try to fight the grin that creased his face. "Damn, boy. Can't cut me any slack, can you?"

Dean grinned. "What's the fun in that?"

"Fun in what?" Sam appeared from the den. "Are you two just going to hang out by the door?"

Dean motioned back to the den. "Get your butt back on that couch, Sam. You're supposed to be resting."

Sam's arms crossed over his chest as he glared at his brother. "That goes for you, too, Dean."

"Sam…"

"Actually, Sam's right," Bobby said, interrupting a potential argument. His gaze slid over to Sam's triumphant face. "And so is Dean. Both of you," he jabbed a thumb at the stairs, "go take a nap."

Twin sets of amazed eyes locked on his. "Now," he snapped, trying to sound more irritated than anxious. What if he made them leave even after Dean had already decided to stay for a while.

Dean blew out a breath. "You heard him, Sammy. Nap time." Dean spun his brother around before Sam had time to register a protest. Shocked, Bobby watched them head upstairs without a word. He considered following them up to eavesdrop outside their door, but he figured Dean would know. So Bobby headed to the kitchen, wondering if the boys would enjoy more of his chili.

-

* * *

Sam waited until Dean closed the door to their shared room. "Dean? What the hell was that?"

His big brother grinned as he stretched out on his bed. "What? Bobby?" Dean chuckled. "I think he just likes us."

"I meant that whole ordering us to take a nap thing," Sam insisted. "I've never heard anyone tell you to take a nap other than Dad." What the hell was wrong with his brother?

Dean's eyes closed. "Maybe I'm tired, Sam."

He waited until Dean's breathing evened out, indicating that his brother really did just fall asleep. Sam copied his brother, not really wanting to go back downstairs by himself. As he stared up at the ceiling, he wondered about his brother and Bobby. Dean never followed orders like that from anyone but Dad. Well, okay, Dean listened to him like that when his brother thought Sam might disappear. So what was Dean's excuse with Bobby? Being thrown out? No, they could just take off in the Impala. No big deal, it was where they spent nearly all their lives anyway.

Sam turned his head to stare at his brother's sleeping form. Why did Dean listen to Bobby like that? Like Dad? His eyes widened as he stared harder. No. No way. Could it be?

Sam returned his eyes to his ceiling vigil, not wanting to wake Dean. It seemed silly, to worry that just looking at a person would wake him, but this was Dean. Sam having a nightmare was enough to wake Dean. Sam being in silent pain was enough to wake Dean. Sam growling in frustration would definitely wake Dean, so he clamped his jaw shut.

This is where they stayed after Dad died. Sometimes Sam caught Dean on the phone, hanging up with Bobby. He had always assumed Dean was calling to see if Bobby had a hunt, but now that he thought about it Bobby never gave them one. Not once. And he never questioned it. Bobby was always ready and willing to help them out when they were stuck and Sam had called many times for hunts. Not once just to talk, though.

He rolled his head to the side to check on his brother. Dean called Bobby just to talk. Sam smiled to himself as he closed his eyes. He could share a little of Dean with Bobby. That seemed fair. After everything he put Dean through this year, that certainly seemed fair. Dean had Bobby and he had Dean. Of course, Dean had him, too, but Sam realized that he hadn't been enough lately. He was so focused on himself, he had totally neglected what Dean had been going through. After their nap, Sam planned to ask Bobby what he thought Sam could do about that. Bobby would probably have a few words of advice. Actually, Bobby would probably have a lot of advice if Sam opened that door. He decided as his body started to drift off to sleep that he would wait until they were ready to leave before asking. That way he could get the Cliff Notes' version.

**The End. **_Thanks again! _


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